


Merry Frickin' Christmas, Cas

by thursdaysfallenangel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Christmas, Cuteness everywhere, Dysfunctional Family, Fluff, M/M, Some angst, macy's, mehcanic!Dean, salesperson!Cas
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-01
Updated: 2017-01-06
Packaged: 2018-02-27 18:09:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 32,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2702354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thursdaysfallenangel/pseuds/thursdaysfallenangel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel has never liked Christmas, not even when he was little. This time of year is when he’s most reminded of how not very loving his family is. With his lack of holiday cheer, he really should have avoided the seasonal job at Macy’s, but hey, he needed the cash, and Gabriel convinced him. He expected the grating Christmas carols and red ornaments everywhere. He did not expect Dean Winchester, whose opinion on Christmas could not be any more different than Castiel’s. It should be impossible for them to get along.</p><p>Somehow it isn’t.</p><p>An advent Dean/Cas fic full of love, cheer, and good old fashioned Christmas spirit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. December 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello friends! So, since this is an advent, I'll be posting everyday up to Christmas! Hope it helps get you through the waiting, both for the holiday and for our next canon taste of Dean and Cas.

Seasonal jobs are the work of the devil.

Castiel pushes his way through the cold, frigid air that defines a Chicago winter, dodging others who, like him, are on their way to work. State Street is busy most of the time, but in the winter it’s unbearable, a mess of woolen coats and slush and people who’d rather be anywhere but outside. Everyone’s head is down to avoid the biting wind coming off of Lake Michigan, making it much harder to navigate the sidewalk. Yet somehow, the city always manages.

It’s not until he sees the giant clock hanging above his head that he realizes he’s there, and even then he has to fight his way through the tide of people marching in the opposite direction to make it to the big, double wide glass doors. He tugs and they open for him, and with no hesitation Castiel steps inside.

He is instantly greeted with warmth and light and the color red. Everywhere. The carpet under his feet is red, as is the sign proclaiming, “Santa has come to Macy’s!” Castiel steps further into the store and is met with a wide open area that is a flurry of activity. The large rectangular space is rimmed with Grecian pillars, and if he follows their natural progression upwards he can see four more floors of the same pillars. At the very top is an arched blue and ivory ceiling with ribbons of gold running through it, his view of the whole masterpiece obstructed by the giant rows of garland dripping with massive red and silver ornaments that is suspended somewhere around the second floor.

“Fantastic, isn’t it?” a voice asks from beside him, and Castiel turns to find a woman dressed in a smart black pantsuit with a red blouse. “Tiffany actually put that design together himself!”

“I’m sorry,” Castiel says, and he winces at how deep and scratchy his voice is in comparison to hers, made even worse by the cold. “I don’t know who that is.”

“That’s alright,” she smiles politely at him, and Castiel knows this has stopped the conversation, as much as he knows when his mother is about to hang up on him. “How may I help you today, sir?”

Castiel fumbles his glove off with clumsy fingers and shoves his hand into the pocket of his peacoat, pulling out a crumpled and worn scrap of paper. “I’m looking for Meg Masters,” he says, reading it. “She works in…” he squints at Gabriel’s messy handwriting, reads the word ‘butt’ and shoves the paper back into his pocket. “With toys, I think,” he finishes awkwardly.

The woman nods, and Castiel finally notices her name tag, which reads ‘Anna.’ “That’s on the fifth floor. If you head on up, I can let her know you’re coming.”

“Thank you,” he says solemnly, walking away without another word. His path to the escalator takes him through the fragrances section, and he ducks easily out of the path of well meaning saleswoman who believe his one purpose here is to buy a present for his girlfriend. Riding the five sets of escalators is even a less desirable experience, since the lack of noise means his journey is accompanied by a pop version of ‘White Christmas’. By the time Castiel has made it to the fifth floor, he is in a thoroughly bad mood.

Then again, this time of year always seems to do that to him.

The ceiling is closer now, with no obstructions, and Castiel takes a moment longer to admire it before following the sign that promises him toys are up ahead. Since this was the season of ostentatious and over-the-top, he had expected something extravagant. He had not prepared himself for what he saw when he stepped through the archway.

If possible, there’s even more red up here than there is downstairs. Men dressed as toy soldiers parade around the room, one standing beside a life-size replica of Batman made out of Lego. There are shelves stacked to the brim full of every toy imaginable, tables with gadgets that whirled and spinned, a large carousel of stuffed animals and what looked like a giant piano inlaid on the floor. Castiel gave silent thanks that it was two thirty on a Monday afternoon and that the only children around were a few too small to be in school.

“Excuse me!” a voice says, and Castiel turns once again to find a woman in a pantsuit, her nametag reading Meg. “You’re Gabriel’s brother, right? Clarence?”

“Castiel,” he corrects.

“Yeah, okay,” she waves a hand. “But you know, ‘tis the season, buddy. I’d get used to that slip up. Gabriel said you have experience?”

“I do,” Castiel confirms. “I was just recently employed at a marketing company. I understand it’s not quite the same as retail, but I—“

“Oh thank god,” Meg interrupts him. “Come on, we can put you in shirt and get you started right away.”

She turns briskly on her heel and starts winding expertly through the toy land obstacle course, Castiel following behind with a confused frown on his face.

“I was told there would be an interview.”

“No way angelface, you’re hired,” Meg says over her shoulder. “I’m desperate. Had to get rid of a guy named Uriel last week because he was scaring the kids, and then today Balthazar tells me his modeling agency got him some job as a sexy Santa, so here you are. You can start today, right?”

“Um, yes,” Castiel says, gaze so focused on a helicopter flying dangerously close to his head that he runs straight into one of the toy soldiers. Grinning cheekily, the soldier salutes, laughter clear in his bright green eyes, and Castiel frowns deeply, darting around him to catch up with Meg once again.

An hour later he finds himself stripped of his coat, Meg proclaiming, “It’ll do,” upon seeing the white button down, blue tie and black slacks he’d worn for the expected interview. “Just make sure it’s a black shirt tomorrow,” she’d warned before leaving him with a small cheerful redhead named Charlie.

Charlie was supposed to be training him, but her overall demeanor made Cas feel much more like he’d somehow been dragged into a chat with an old friend.

“So a lot of the people this time of year don’t actually know what they’ve come in here for,” Charlie grins. “They’ll come in and tell us their kid loves music, or that their daughter really wants that doll that does the snow thing, and our job is to help them find the perfect gift.”

“What doll does the snow thing?” Castiel asks. He has no experience with children, and as Charlie goes on he can’t help feeling this job will be much harder than he anticipated. He can’t imagine helping a parent buy a toy their child would actually like.

“Frozen, dude. The answer is always Frozen,” she says, pointing towards a large display that featured a snowman with a strangely shaped head. “Anyway, that’s only one part of what we do. The other side of the spectrum is the kids. A lot of the time you’ll find them running around alone, and we gotta keep an eye on them, sometimes entertain them.” Charlie eyes him. “I get the feeling that’s not your strong point.”

“No,” Castiel says, agreeing.

“Okay well, just don’t tell them Santa isn’t real, that’d suck, ‘cause you can visit him on this floor and crying kids on Christmas is not something their parents will appreciate.” Charlie taps her lip, looking around the still fairly empty floor. “Oh! And there’s restocking and all that. Any questions?”

“Yes. Many.”

Charlie laughs. “You’ll get the hang of it, I promise. Just take a lap around the floor and if you see someone who looks lost, help them out.”

Castiel can’t think of a better idea, and really at this point he wants to go home, so he does as Charlie says. The floor grows busier as the day grows later, parents bringing their children in before they go out to eat and head home for the night. He sees some of the toy soldiers marching around and looking important to the delight of several young boys, but he doesn’t see the green eyed soldier again.

Eventually he gets bored and, seeing that a row of Barbies is looking sparse, decides to start refilling the shelves again. He’s barely made a dent in the whole process when he sees a woman moving determinedly towards him from the corner of his eye.

“ _Excuse_ me,” she says, much louder than she needs to. “ _Excuse_ me, Cas-teel.”

Castiel glances down at his nametag and then back up at her from his place on the floor, trying to look as polite as possible. He can practically feel the pained expression on his face. “Can I help you, ma’am?”

“Yes,” she says, aggressively shoving an ad at him. “I came here to find the Marvel Action Figure Set, because you have it on sale, but you don’t _have_ any more of the Marvel Action Figure Set.”

Castiel waits for more, and when none comes, he blinks. “Oh,” he says. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry? _Sorry_? Just what the hell am I supposed to do now? I came all the way here from Evanston – _Evanston_ , and you don’t have the only damn toy my kid wants for Christmas!” Nostrils flaring, she snatches the ad back and crosses her arms. “So what are you going to do about it?”

Castiel stands, looking around the toy area. Charlie and Meg are nowhere in sight. “Maybe you can try another store,” he suggests.

The woman’s eyes widen. “Another store?” she repeats, and Castiel has to run the past few minutes through his head just to make sure he hadn’t told the woman to go fuck herself, she looks so offended by the suggestion. “And where,” she says voice growing louder with each word, “Do you expect me to find time to go to _another store_?”

Castiel opens his mouth, maybe this time to actually say go fuck yourself, when a hand lands heavy on his shoulder and he snaps it shut. The man next to him is wearing a dark blue pair of coveralls with a leather jacket thrown over them, but his smile is charming enough, and Castiel realizes with a jolt that it’s the soldier from earlier. He wonders where his uniform has gone.

“I couldn’t help over hearing your problem,” the man says, and his voice is rich and deep, “And I think I can help. We have a great online ordering system I can hook you up with. If you’ll let me?” He smiles cajolingly at the woman, and after a minute of hesitation she nods.

“As long as my order isn’t screwed up. I’ve had that happen before.”

“No problem. We at Macy’s are here for your every need,” the man begins to lead her towards where Castiel knows the checkout counters are located, though not before sending him a wink.

Castiel stares until the strange man is out of sight, before sitting back down on the floor and beginning to stack Barbies again, trying to block out the rest of the world.

Meg finds him there, on the floor, just as he’s placing the last Barbie on the shelf, and she raises an eyebrow at him. How was your first day?” she asks.

“Fine,” Castiel replies. He doesn’t think she cares all that much.

“Great. You can go now, just be here at ten tomorrow morning. And remember, black shirt!”

Somehow he manages to find the staff room where Meg had dumped his coat. Slowly he winds his scarf around his neck, shrugs the heavy coat over his shoulders, and slides on his gloves. The sun will have gone down by now, making it at least ten degrees colder outside than it had been this afternoon. He heads down the five flights of escalators, through the fragrance department, and to the State street entranceway. The green eyed man is there, balancing on a ladder as he fixes a wreath on the window high above the door, and Castiel tries to hurry past. The man catches sight of him anyway, calling out a cheerful, “Merry Christmas, man!”

Castiel pushes through the door without acknowledging him and gasps a breath out into the cold night air. It’s his first Christmas greeting of the year. He wishes it could be his last.


	2. December 2

By lunch time Tuesday afternoon, Castiel is beginning to suspect that the man he’d run into the other day was now following him around.

He’d been outside when Castiel first got to work, fixing one of the many tinsel covered bugles sticking out of the side of the store and whistling a tune that sounded suspiciously like, ‘It’s Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas’. When Castiel was sent to grab more wrapping paper on the lower level, he spotted him with his hands covered in grease, leaning against the wall and talking casually to a large man with a beard. And right before lunch, when the tour showcasing Macy’s Christmas traditions came through the toy store, he was there at the head of the pack, bantering with the blonde tour guide and basically charming everyone into fits of laughter.

Castiel is getting a little sick of seeing him and all of his Christmas cheer.

Which may explain why, when he’s finally allowed to go eat lunch and retrieves his meal from the food court on the lower level, he can’t seem to stop staring.

He’s down here again, eating lunch with a tall man Castiel doesn’t recognize and the blonde that had been leading the tour. The first thing that had struck Castiel about the man were his green eyes, simply because that was his first impression of him, but now that he’s had time to study he realizes there’s much more to him than that.

His shoulders are broad and capable, the lithe lines of his back leading to a rather fantastic ass. Every inch of his visible skin is freckled, and his brown-blonde hair always seems to be rakishly ruffled, like he constantly runs his hands through it. Hands that are big and often never stop moving.

To Castiel’s disgruntlement, he’s rather disgustingly attractive.

“Why are you staring at Dean?” Charlie asks, plonking her tray down across from him. Castiel startles and blushes slightly, embarrassed to have been caught staring at a man he wants nothing to do with.

He does, however, latch on to the name. “Dean?”

“Yeah, Dean, the guy you’re making googly eyes at,” Charlie grins. “Not that you’re the first to fall for his charms.”

“I haven’t fallen for anything,” Castiel scowls. “I actually find him rather annoying.”

“Dude, he does that too,” Charlie laughs.

Castiel resolves to drop the subject right there, but curiosity gets the better of him. Faking nonchalance, he takes a bite of his sandwich. “So you know him well?”

“We’re basically like this,” she hums in response, crossing two of her fingers together. “I met him when I first started working here a couple of years ago. He kinda makes the place bearable.”

Castiel frowns. “So he works here.” Other than seeing Dean performing the occasional odd job, he’s not sure he’s ever seen him working, or even in a specific department.

“Oh nah, he’s a contractor,” Charlie says, waving a hand around the food court. It, like everywhere else in the department store, is bedecked with trees and garland and lights. “All the Christmas stuff you see? That’s him. He builds the window displays all on his own too.”

Castiel knows about the window displays. Of course he does. Everyone in the city knows about them. Hell, people from outside the city come in just to see them. Every year at Christmas time, Macy’s fills its windows with a display, made up of wooden figures and animatronics and countless decorations. By the time you make it from the first window to the last, you’ve had a whole story told to you with no words at all.

Castiel’s never actually seen the windows, but he still finds it surprising that one man is able to accomplish something like that.

“It must be a lot of work, if it requires him to be in the store so much.”

“Oh, that’s just Dean. He and his brother kinda grew up here. He comes back a lot, especially this time of year. I swear, he’s got some kind of holly jolly boner or something.”

He manages not to laugh at that, barely, taking a long sip of his tea and glancing discreetly in Dean’s direction again.

“So, what’d he do to annoy you?”

Castiel shrugs. “He just seems overly cheerful. This isn’t really my favorite time of year.”

Charlie frowns at him, and Castiel finds he doesn’t like the expression on her face one bit. “That’s not really fair. C’mon, lemme introduce you. He can be pretty great when you get to know him.”

“No,” Castiel says quickly, shaking his head. “No, thank you. I should get back to work now.” He stands, taking his tray to dump into the trash can nearest him. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Charlie relocating to Dean’s table, and not ten seconds later Dean is turning to look at him. Castiel keeps his head resolutely down as he heads back up the escalator.

Meg meets him as soon as he steps off onto the fifth floor. “Castiel, there you are,” she says briskly, even though he’s only taken fifteen minutes of his allotted hour break. “Can you go help some customers? Honestly, I can’t do everything by myself.”

He’s not sure what it is about December 2. Maybe parents are just beginning to realize it’s December, the month Christmas is in, and they start to panic. Whatever the case, it’s much more crowded here than it was yesterday, and so he wades his way into the countless people, trying to pick out who looks the easiest to deal with.

Three hours later, he’s helped a little girl find her mother, kicked a teen out of the giant Lego pit when he begins pelting Lego blocks at small children and has listened to a Rudolph stuffed animal sing ‘Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer’ at least fifteen times in a row before the toddler pressing the button grew bored and waddled away. With a sigh of relief, he picks the discarded stuffed animal off the floor and places it on a higher shelf.

This corner of the store, miraculously, seems unpopular at the moment, and he takes a deep breath, leaning his head against the wall. If it weren’t for his unfortunate unemployment, he’d never in a million years have taken this job. Come to think of it, if it weren’t for Gabriel insisting Castiel come work with him, he never even would have considered Macy’s.

Christmas does nothing but depress and annoy him. He has no idea why he decided it was a good idea to come work here.

“Is Santa really here?” a small high pitched voice asks from nearby. Castiel would ignore it – he’s been hearing variations of the same question all day, had even had to explain to a little boy that Santa was on a ‘milk and cookies break’ with a completely straight face – if not for the voice that answered her.

“’Course he’s here. Flew in on his sleigh just to see you.”

He tries to pretend his head doesn’t shoot up when he recognizes Dean, just visible over the row of shelves Castiel is hiding behind. Moving casually closer in the guise of straightening the Hot Wheels display in front of him, he continues to listen.

“Really?” the little girl’s voice asks, and Castiel can now see that she can’t be any older than five. She’s standing at the edge of the giant piano inlaid in the floor, toeing the edge to produce a constant F-note.

“Well you’ve been good this year, haven’t you?” Dean questions, crouching down so that he’s eye to eye with her. Of all the variations of clothing Castiel has seen Dean wear, the leather jacket he’s currently in seems to be his favorite, although instead of his work coveralls underneath he’s dressed in a plaid overshirt and jeans. Castiel wonders why he hasn’t gone home yet, since he seems to be finished for the day.

Little pigtails bob solemnly, and Dean breaks into a grin, holding out a hand for a high five. “Then you ain’t got nothing to worry about, do ya? Santa loves good little girls.”

The little girl giggles and toes the piano again, the soft note ringing through the store, barely heard over the chatter of shoppers and the Christmas music blaring over the loud speakers.

A thoughtful look crosses Dean’s face. “Wanna see something cool?” he asks.

The little girl nods eagerly, and Dean straightens up, stepping onto the piano and bouncing lightly on the same F-note the girl had been playing with just seconds before.

Before Castiel can convince himself he’s being incredibly creepy and go back to work, Dean begins to move around the piano, leaping from one note to the other until the little girl begins jumping up and down in excitement.

“Frosty the Snowman!”

Indeed, Dean is making himself look like a complete fool, jumping around on the floor in order to hit the right notes in ‘Frosty the Snowman’. That is, he should look like a fool. Somehow, with the wide grin on his face, and the excitement of the little girl, he looks anything but.

It’s at this point that Castiel really should turn away. But somehow he can’t, and he remains transfixed in the same spot until the song is finished. He thinks it’s the first time he’s sat through an entire Christmas song since he was a child.

The little girl is clapping wildly, and Dean gives an exaggerated bow, looking no less out of breath, considering he’d just spent three minutes jumping around. When he straightens up, he catches Cas’ eyes and within seconds Cas is ducking back down behind the shelves.

Stupid. What the hell is he doing?

He stays ducked behind the shelf, hoping and praying Dean doesn’t decide to come investigate why the weird new guy keeps staring and scowling at him. Luckily for him, no one appears for a good ten minutes, and he’s able to pick himself up off the floor with dignity, brushing his black slacks off and discreetly looking around.

Dean is nowhere to be seen. The young girl he was talking to is now on the floor next to the piano, preoccupied with a small doll. Castiel ignores the ridiculous pang in his chest and gets back to work.

His shift is over at six, just in time for his stomach to start grumbling. It didn’t help that he hadn’t really gotten a chance to finish his lunch. As he heads back to the break room, he looks around surreptitiously. Dean has been strangely absent since Castiel caught his moment with the little girl, and he’s not sure how he feels about that.

“Are you looking for someone in particular?” Charlie’s shift ended at the same time as his, unfortunately for Castiel, who thought he had been doing a much better job searching for Dean than he actually was.

“No,” he says simply, holding open the door to the staff room and following Charlie inside. He carefully does up the buttons of his coat, going through the same tiresome routine of bundling up that he goes through every day. The cold makes him so exhausted. He could move south to escape it, but he can’t imagine leaving Chicago.

“Mhmm,” Charlie says, shrugging on her blue puffy jacket and tying her maroon and gold striped scarf around her neck. “I guess you caught Dean’s little concert today too, huh?”

“Who says I did?” Castiel asks stiffly, stuffing his hand into his glove with more force than is strictly needed.

“I didn’t, you just did,” she grins triumphantly. “Don’t worry about it. Even Jo stopped to watch, and she’s like, Dean’s sister. There’s just something about him when he gets into the holiday mood. It’s not a big deal.”

“Even if I was watching,” he says, frowning. “It wasn’t because of the holiday mood. If anything it was because he looked ridiculous.”

Charlie rolls her eyes. “Alright grumpy. No need to get defensive.” She pulls on a hat with a large pompom and the word ‘Marvel’ emblazoned across the front. “Have a Merry Christmas, alright Cas?”

Castiel grunts in response. He wishes everyone would stop telling him that.


	3. December 3

It’s really a bit of a miracle he’s been able to avoid Gabriel for as long as he has.

Usually Gabriel is able to inflict his special brand of humor on Castiel at least once an hour, and that’s with him living halfway across the city. Castiel thinks he should probably be more suspicious that they’ve been working in the same place for two days now and Gabriel hasn’t come to bother him once.

It’s no use putting off the inevitable though, and with Gabriel as his brother the more Castiel avoids him the more detrimental it may be to his future mental health. It’s therefore with a heavy heart that he makes his way to the opposite end of the floor, down to the lower level, and into what Gabriel calls, ‘the crack den for candyholics.’

Castiel has no problem figuring out why. The second he enters the brightly lit area filled with colorful candies, his nose is assaulted by the overwhelming and overpowering smell of mint.

It’s like Christmas has come to attack his sense of smell now too, as unsatisfied as it apparently was torturing his eyes and ears.

“Little bro!” Castiel hears Gabriel call, and he’s barely able to rip his gaze away from the Christmas tree made up completely of green Frango mint boxes in time to see Gabriel lunge at him for a hug. “I thought you’d forgotten all about the little people.”

“Of course not,” Castiel says, patting him awkwardly on the back. He’s able to spare one more thought towards the constructed Christmas tree – was Dean responsible for that too? – before Gabriel is pulling back, and Castiel’s eyes are assaulted by his outfit. “Gabriel,” he says slowly. “What are you wearing?”

Gabriel is short, especially compared to Castiel, and he’s always admired his big brother for constantly seeming comfortable in his own skin. Castiel has no idea, however, why Gabriel might want to emphasize his lack of height with pointy elf ears and a spiky collared shirt with little jingle bells attached.

“I’m Santa’s elf, Cas,” Gabriel grins, throwing his arms wide so Castiel can receive the full affect. “Gotta play nice for the kiddies.”

“You hate Christmas almost as much as I do,” Castiel feels the need to point out.

“Correction – I hate our family’s Christmases. I got nothing against fat bearded mean and babies.” Gabriel smirks a little, “And Santie Claus is pretty kick-ass too.”

Castiel can feel the beginnings of a headache pushing insistently at the front of his skull. Gabriel always did this to him. “Had I known that I probably wouldn’t have taken up your offer to work here.”

“Aw, sorry Cassie. Did your Scrooge need a partner? I do a mean Grinch,” he scrunches up his face and rubs his hands together, “I must stop Christmas from coming! But how?”

“Shut up,” Castiel grumbles. “If you’re going to be ridiculous about it I can find someone else to eat lunch with.”

Gabriel perks up at the word lunch and rips off his elf ears, causing a small boy nearby to stare wide mouthed at him. “Good thinking Cassie, I’m starving.” Tossing the ears over the checkout counter, he calls, “I’m going to lunch Zeke! Try not to get too excited over having the customers to yourself!”

“Zeke?” Castiel questions as Gabriel winds expertly through the candy and out into the wide cleared space of floor that acted as the hallway in this store.

“Hermit, never comes out of the back,” Gabriel shrugs. “He does all the boring paperwork, so I can’t complain.”

“Oh,” Castiel frowns. He wonders if this is a method he could put in place upstairs for himself.

“So, what about you, make any new friends? I know what a social butterfly you are, bet you’re beating them off with a stick.”

Castiel stiffens and ducks out of the way of a man in a snowman costume who somehow manages to look determined, even with his unmoving face. “Hey Garth!” Gabriel says cheerfully, holding out his hand for a high five and saving Castiel the trouble of having to interact. Garth’s white mittened hand slaps Gabriel’s palm with a satisfied muffle, and he’s on his way again, bending down to greet little kids.

“That,” Gabriel announces. “Was an excellent rebuttal.”

“I’ve made friends,” Castiel says defensively. “The manager, Meg, seems fine. And there’s a girl I work with, Charlie.”

“Gee, that was descriptive Cas. I feel like I know them myself.” He pulls Cas away from the sushi bar he’s trying to head for. “Let’s say we skip the raw fish and have some real food.” Castiel finds himself standing beside a counter situated directly under a heat lamp, dishes of mashed potatoes and meatloaf laid out before him.

“Take one, Cas, before I’m forced to call mommy dearest and tell her you’re getting all twiggy-looking.”

Castiel grabs a plate and, refusing to give Gabriel the satisfaction of winning and the opportunity to gloat, heads off to pay and find a table on his own. Unfortunately most of the cafeteria is filled, so he takes a seat at one of the tables available right in the middle and ignores Gabriel when he drops down in the seat across from him a moment later.

As much as he’s trying not to look at Gabriel, even he couldn’t fail to notice the several plates of pie his brother has managed to stack onto his tray.

“Are you planning on solving the city’s hunger problem?”

“More like rallying the troops,” Gabriel grins before shoving a large forkful of mashed potatoes into his mouth. Castiel doesn’t know what that means, and he manages to get several seconds of blissful, silent eating time out of his lack of answer before Gabriel is speaking again. He’s apparently decided food in his mouth is not an issue. “So, word on the lower level is that you’ve got a problem with a certain Winchester.”

Castiel stops poking at his surprisingly tasty meatloaf and tilts his head. “Isn’t that a gun manufacturer?” he asks.

Gabriel just raises and lowers his eyebrows in a way that makes him look ridiculous. “The name Dean ringing any silver bells for you?”

He sighs. He supposes that even if Charlie hadn’t actually said something to Dean about their conversation yesterday, as he suspected she did, it would have gotten out some other way. There was nowhere for gossip in this store to go but to another floor, and Castiel can only blame himself for complaining so openly about someone else that worked here. It’s not as if any of his coworkers owed him any secrecy – he was the new one, the interloper.

“Yes Gabriel, I know who Dean is.”

“Well that’s a relief. And here I was worried that this was gonna be awkward.”

Castiel doesn’t look towards the new voice. Instead he just stares at his brother, who looks way too happy as he casually hands over one of his plates of pie.

“Cranberry today, Deano.”

“Yeah, Ellen mentioned they got way too big a shipment. I’ll have to convince her to switch flavors in a couple days, or we’ll be eating this until Christmas.”

Castiel hears the metal legs of the chair next to him scraping along the tile floor, and finally he can’t help but turn his head.

Dean, infuriatingly, is just as attractive up close as he is from across a room. When he’s settled into his chair and shifts closer to the table, Castiel catches a whiff of pine and cinnamon.

“Dean Winchester,” Dean says when he notices Castiel staring, promptly dropping his plastic fork to stick out his hand. Castiel switches his gaze to that instead. It is calloused and he can see faint traces of pine sap trapped in Dean’s fingernails.

“Castiel,” he replies, and Dean nods and drops his hand in order to retrieve his fork and begin digging enthusiastically into his pie. He seems unbothered by the slight.

“Sorry about my brother’s lack of manners. He’s a bit moody today.”

“I figured it was because he was being forced to eat lunch with you,” Dean retorts, no malice behind the statement. Castiel wonders how well Gabriel knows Dean. There’s an easy feeling of camaraderie between them that suggests they’ve done this many times before.

“More like it’s Christmas time and he never got his Red Ryder,” Gabriel shoots back, pulling a plate of pie towards him. “Want one Cas?”

Castiel shakes his head, though he’s distracted. Dean has now turned his full attention on him.

“Were you traumatized by a pink bunny suit too?” he asks seriously.

Castiel frowns. “I hadn’t realized that was a traumatizing experience.”

“Aw c’mon man,” Dean’s face breaks out into a smile. “Don’t leave me hanging on my Christmas Story joke.”

Castiel’s sure there’s a blank look on his face.

“He’s never seen it,” Gabriel says, mouth full of pie and voice garbled. He reaches out to take a large gulp of his hot chocolate. “Cassie hates the holidays.”

“Really,” Dean laughs and shrugs, scraping cranberry sauce off his plate and onto his fork. “Alright then.”

Castiel feels an irrational jolt of annoyance at his response. His dislike of all things Christmas isn’t something he yells from the rooftops, but he’s used to a little more than indifference whenever the truth does come out. Usually he’s bombarded with reasons to feel holiday cheer and suggestions on how to accomplish such a feeling until he wants nothing to do with anybody until the new year has arrived. For some reason, Dean’s completely opposite reaction is irritating.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“What?” Dean asks in surprise. The fork he’s been licking clean is still stuck halfway in his mouth, and Castiel feels another jolt.

“Alright then,” Castiel mimics, choosing to ignore it. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Pretty sure it means alright then, Cas,” Gabriel interjects.

Castiel’s insistent. “No. It didn’t.”

Dean sets down his fork and leans back in his chair. He looks completely comfortable, with his legs sprawled and head tilted, like he’s on his couch at home. “You can’t hate Christmas,” he finally says.

“Excuse me?” Castiel asks, affronted that his feelings are being challenged. “Yes you can.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Lots of people say they hate Christmas,” he explains patiently. Castiel suddenly remembers Dean crouching down to speak with the little girl yesterday, and is irritated all over again that he’s being treated exactly as Dean would treat a small child. “They don’t really. They just don’t understand it, or they think it’s cool not to be like everybody else. I’ve seen it before. They all come around.”

“I assure you,” Castiel says icily, “I fully understand the meaning of Christmas, and I have no intentions of seeming cool.”

Green eyes the exact shade of a pine tree narrow at him. “I’m still calling bullshit.”

“I don’t,” Castiel says quietly, forcefully, “Like Christmas.”

Their gazes hold for what seems like an eternity, the air between them thick with tension. Castiel feels as if he’s going to drown in that pine and cinnamon smell, a scent that holds no good memories for him. He feels like he could choke.

“Hey Winchester!”

Dean’s eyes snap away, and Castiel tries to make his sigh of relief as unnoticeable as possible. Charlie is only a few tables away, a small frown painted across her lips. “You promised you’d eat with me today,” she reminds Dean.

Dean gives a short nod and stands immediately from his chair like nothing had happened. “See ya Gabe. Nice to meet you, Cas.” He salutes again, as he had when he was dressed as a soldier, the smirk returning full force, before sauntering off to drop down next to Charlie.

Castiel takes a deep breath of air that thankfully smells only of meatloaf.

Gabriel whistles, low and long. “Wanna cut off a piece of some of that sexual tension and take it home?” he asks. “I’ve got doggie bags.”

Castiel takes a bite of his cold mashed potatoes. “Shut up, Gabriel.”


	4. December 4

It figures that the first day Castiel has off begins with the shrill sound of his cell phone ringing at an ungodly hour of the morning.

He knocks his alarm clock, a tissue box, and a paperback book he keeps telling himself he’s going to read off of his nightstand before he manages to find the phone without opening his eyes. Fumbling the thing clumsily with one hand, he swipes at the screen and brings it to his ear. “’Lo?” he says, wincing at the rusty sound of his voice. It hasn’t woken up yet either.

“Castiel. Trust you to still be asleep at this hour,” Naomi Novak’s cool voice floats over the line, causing Castiel to instinctively squeeze his eyes shut tighter, like that could block out the sound somehow. Blearily blinking them open, he manages to find the red digital numbers of his clock flashing up at him from the floor. It reads 7:30.

“Hello, mother.”

“I suppose you’ve been lounging about like this since your uncle laid you off?” she asks, ignoring his greeting.

“No,” Castiel replies, feeling a spike of anger through his chest. “If Zachariah hadn’t fired me, I would have quit anyway. He was publicly defaming other businesses in order to support the ones employing him, and frankly I find that kind of behavior deplorable.”

“Oh Castiel,” his mother sighs. “Why must you insist on making Christmas dinner so awkward? First your little sexuality crisis, now this…”

Castiel bristles. “It wasn’t a crisis, I’m _gay._ You seem to forget that Lucifer is the one who announced that little tidbit over the roast beast, not me.”

“Blaming your problems on your brother is part of the reason nobody in the family can seem to like you in the first place.”

“Then I suppose I’ll have to live alone with my _problems_.”

Naomi sighs. “Have you been in touch with Gabriel?”

“Why?” Castiel asks.

“Because the stupid boy is evading my calls, and for some reason I can’t seem to locate his home address. I have no way of telling him what time to arrive at the house Christmas Eve.”

Castiel is suddenly insanely jealous of Gabriel and his ability to disappear from their mother’s radar without a trace.

“I don’t know where he is,” he lies. “I’ll try to let him know you’re looking for him if I pass him on the street.”

“As for you,” Naomi continues, declining to give him thanks. “I’ve set up an interview for you with Michael’s law firm on the sixteenth. He informs me they need someone to perform clerical work, and that will be good enough for you until we can find something more suitable.”

“I have a job,” Castiel replies, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Even if I didn’t, I certainly wouldn’t go work for Michael.”

“Where did you get a job?” his mother demands. “How?”

“My college degree helped,” he says icily. He refuses to tell Naomi where he works. He knows she won’t be pleased at all about her youngest working retail in a department store, and she’d never get off his case until he quit and agreed to work for someone else in their large family. Worse yet, she might actually turn up at the damn place, putting Gabriel in her path as well.

“No matter,” she sniffs. “I’ll get it out of you eventually, though your refusal to tell me leads me to believe it’s something less than savory. You’re to arrive at the house on Christmas Eve no later than two in the afternoon, so we can make it to early mass. You will be staying overnight. The family Christmas party is on the twentieth – you will make an appearance.” There’s a tone in her voice that promises pain in every way imaginable if he ignores what she’s saying, so Castiel makes the appropriate noises in order to finally get her to abruptly hang up the phone.

She never ends with a goodbye.

In a fit of frustration, Castiel throws his phone across the room, letting it hit the wall with a satisfying smack and fall onto the armchair below. He’ll worry about the damage later. Right now, he doesn’t care.

Breakfast is a sorry affair. He is out of coffee, and the only food in the house is half a box of Branflakes he doesn’t remember buying and a frozen bag of corn. Tossing the box of cereal away in disgust, Castiel heads to his room, determined to somehow make this day better.

He’s dressed in a thermal and sweatpants before eight, and after stuffing on a pair of gloves and a skull cap over his messy dark hair, he’s out the door. Running has always done wonders to release the tension in his body, and today is no different, his anger and frustration over his entire situation melting away with each mile.

The family Christmas party is what he dreads most of all. Each year, his family seems to find it desirable that everyone should get together – usually in a church basement – to gossip and one up each other and tell Castiel how frankly disappointing he’d turned out to be. Castiel’s whole extended family was included, and it was not an event that made him look particularly fondly to the upcoming weeks ahead.

He’d been running along Lakeshore Drive, the wind whipping off the lake unhindered by tall buildings as it hits him flat in the face, stinging his nose and causing his eyes to water. It hadn’t snowed in a week, so at least the sidewalk is fairly clear, but it was still freezing, and the wind was strong enough this morning to cause the snow from the ground to swirl around him once again.

After about five miles he slows down, overheated and finally feeling the ache creep into his muscles that comes from working them so hard in such cold weather. Belatedly, he realizes he’s made it all the way to Millennium Park.

He passes the temporary ice rink that’s been set up for the winter season. Although not open yet, men are already hard at work sweeping the ice clear and preparing it for the Zamboni. Castiel walks past them, letting his breath fog up the air in front of him until he makes it to the giant bean.

It’s almost mid-morning now, a small trickle of tourists here to visit their families beginning to wander into the park in order to look at the massive sculpture against the backdrop of the city. Castiel has always been fond of the bean. He has no idea why, but then again, the sculpture makes no sense either. A giant, reflective bean. People only visit to take warped pictures of themselves in its surface. It’s completely nonsensical. Castiel loves it.

“Hey, fancy seeing you here.”

He turns sharply, the peace and quiet he’d created for himself shattered by Dean Winchester’s steady voice.

“So you do actually exist outside of the store,” he replies.

Dean just smiles at him. “Only on certain special, magical days, if the kids believe in me enough.”

“Creative.”

“Not really. It’s the plot to like, six movies,” Dean shrugs. Castiel realizes that Dean is once again only wearing a leather jacket, and doesn’t even have the decency to pretend to look cold. He has however, this time around, paired it with a pom pommed hat (Castiel carefully does not dwell on how that somehow only enhances his attractiveness) and, strangely enough, a pair of bright red and green gloves. They are tassled, with blinking Christmas trees on them. They are everything obnoxious about Christmas.

Dean catches him staring and shoves them in his pockets. “They were a gag gift, man.” When Castiel’s stare only switches to his face, he sputters, “What? They’re _warm_.”

“Hmm,” Castiel says.

“Not like you’re really one to talk anyway,” Dean says, gesturing to Castiel’s hat with his elbow.

Castiel’s hand flies to his blue and gray hat, fingers absentmindedly running over the bumps and ridges of the embroidered eagle on front. “I like Harry Potter.”

“Cool, I like Christmas,” Dean quirks an eyebrow. “So, day off today?”

“Obviously.”

“Hey man, no need to get all snippy. Just wondering what could possibly possess a guy to come out to Millennium at ten in the morning if he ain’t even gotta go to work afterwards.”

“I was running,” Castiel frowns. “What about you?”

He realizes he’s being rather rude, but he can’t really work up the energy to care.

“I like to watch the city wake up,” Dean says, no teasing or anything in his voice. He’s watching the bean. It’s late enough in the day that school trips have started to show up, and Castiel can see several young girls taking selfies in front of the sculpture.

“All the time, or only at Christmas time?” Castiel asks, and alright, that was intentionally rude.

Dean laughs, not talking the bait. “This again, huh?” He shakes his head. “I’ll probably head into the store after lunch. You going to visit?”

Castiel tilts his head in confusion. “Why would I visit on my day off?”

“Why wouldn’t you?” Dean counters immediately.

They fall into silence, Castiel not having an answer to such a ridiculous question and Dean apparently deciding not to waste anymore time in conversation. Castiel has no idea why he continues to stand there next to him, but he does, fairly comfortably despite the cold weather and the company, before he hears something that makes him stiffen.

Somewhere, for some reason, a lone, haunting voice is singing the opening verse to ‘Silent Night’. It is chilling in its simplicity, in what should be beauty, but all Castiel can think of is cold nights, a candle flickering, and sitting in the back pew of an empty church.

“Hey Cas? Cas!” Castiel looks up to realize he has started walking briskly away from the bean, and the noise. Looking back, he spots a group of carolers, still singing, and Dean following him.

“Are you alright?” Dean actually looks concerned, and Castiel hopes to god it’s only because he’d suddenly walked away, and not because his face is betraying him with an expression he can’t even feel.

“I’m fine,” Castiel shakes his head. The songs the carolers are singing is a distant noise now, regulated to the background where Castiel can easily ignore it. Dean is still looking at him with that concerned expression on his face, like he cares.

He can tell Dean is putting it together in his head, as he glances back toward the carolers and then takes Castiel by the elbow, steering him further away. He prays he won’t ask. Dean doesn’t.

“So,” he finally says. Dean has brought him to the edge of the park, where flat concrete bleeds once again into tall skyscrapers, signs warning of potentially hazardous falling icicles and advertisements for the polar bear at Lincoln Park zoo.

“So?” Castiel asks. The Christmas tree on Dean’s glove is blinking merrily up from where it rests on his elbow, and Castiel finds himself captivated by it, that a glove that looks like it was made for a small child can look so natural on a grown man’s hand.

“You really don’t like Christmas, do you?” Dean quietly asks.

“No,” he says. “I do not like Christmas.”

Dean takes off a moment later, an excuse about some car he promised to look at on his lips and a thoughtful look on his face. Castiel doesn’t stay any longer than he has to, running back the five miles to his apartment a little less easily than he had before. He has no idea what he’ll do to fill the rest of his day. The apartment doesn’t need cleaning, Gabriel is at the store, and he can think of no one to call. He spends the last mile resolutely composing a grocery list in his head in order to stop his brain from wandering anywhere he doesn’t want it to, especially since it seems to wander straight back to a pair of green eyes.

He has work again tomorrow. He thinks maybe it won’t be so bad, this time around.


	5. December 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all! I'm gonna be in Copenhagen this weekend with no wifi, but no fear! My friend Rachel has promised to put this weekend's chapters up for me (if I'm able to write them before I leave). Please yell at her if she needs reminding, although she's pretty fantastic and I'm sure she'll do fine.  
> Have a good weekend! Hope you have snow, wherever you are (I'm jealous if you do).

Castiel doesn’t have to go into work until noon, but that doesn’t mean he’s any more awake than he would have been had he come in at eight in the morning.

He hadn’t slept well last night, his sleep hampered by troubling dreams filled with feelings of loneliness and unhappiness. He felt empty, like there was something he desperately wanted. He just had no idea what the hell it was.

Right now, he’d guess he wanted more coffee.

Meg seems to sense his mood the second he arrives, and after giving him a disapproving (and rather hypocritical, judging by the fact that as far as he can tell Meg walks around the store all day in an effort to avoid customers) talk about putting on a cheerful face for all the shoppers, she lets him back into the stock room.

“We just got in a whole shipment of…these,” Meg tells him, lip curling as she holds up a pretty doll with braided blonde hair and a blue dress. “Careful when you handle the fucking things, they sing. If I hear that damn ‘Let It Go’ one more fucking time, I’m going to scream.”

Castiel stares at her. She looks dead serious. “Okay,” he says carefully. “What would you like me to do with them?”

“Here,” she shoves a clipboard at him. “I need you to count them. We should have fifteen hundred. Just check them all of as you go through, make sure they look alright. Think you can handle that?”

“Yes,” Castiel nods.

“Good, because a five year old could do this job.” Meg sighs and rubs at her temples. “Fucking Christmas time,” she grumbles. “If it gets too busy out there, I’m going to come grab you, so don’t treat this like nap time or some shit.”

“I would never nap on the job, Meg.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Meg rolls her eyes. “You’re kinda weird, you know that Clarence? Don’t go crazy in here.” She turns on her heel and leaves him alone. Along with the boxes and boxes of dolls Castiel has to sort through, there are other toys as well, and he takes a moment to walk through the aisles and look at them.

He sees small wooden kitchen sets, complete with ovens and cupboards and sinks and tiny little cups. He sees small jeeps made for children that they can actually drive around in. Colorful TV sets with Mickey Mouse ears.

He can’t imagine any child actually wanting and getting these kinds of things. They seem too impossible, too fantastical a dream for a five year old to have, like wanting a pony. But then Castiel finds a large stuffed pony that walks around and can be ridden. He heads back to his boxes of dolls.

When Castiel was young, he was not encouraged to ask for presents. He hadn’t even known he was supposed to before he’d gone to school, when other children began excitedly talking about their letters to Santa. When he asked his mother why Santa didn’t come to their house, she’d replied stiffly, “Because, Castiel. It is the lord’s birthday. We’re meant to be giving presents to him, aren’t we?”

Christmas’ were spent going to mass, full of family members that refused to answer his questions about why some families had trees in their living rooms, or why Aaron Bass had eight days of Christmas instead of just one.

When Castiel was eight Naomi told him Santa Claus didn’t exist, mostly, he suspects, in order to stop him from asking questions. It worked for a while, although as he grew older his family members grew more and more disdainful of him. Of why he couldn’t just shut up and spend the holiday in silent reflection and thanks, like he was meant to do.

Gabriel has occasionally given him some form of baked goods, and Castiel always returns the favor with a box of Godiva chocolates. But that’s the closest he’s ever gotten to giving and receiving a Christmas present.

Sitting on the smooth concrete floor isn’t as uncomfortable as he thought it was going to be, so he settles himself down and pulls the first box towards him. It’s filled to the top with pink and blue boxes, the Disney logo emblazed on the side. He begins pulling them out to count and inspect them, probably much slower than Meg wanted him to, but he enjoys this work. It’s methodical and precise, and he carefully makes a check next to the first fifteen dolls on his list before packing them back up and moving on to the next box.

Castiel’s gone through four boxes when he hears the door to the stock room open, and, expecting it to be Meg, calls out, “I’m over here.” He’s done a fairly effect job hiding himself behind a row of shelves and more stacks of the dolls.

To his surprise, when he looks up its Dean that’s standing over him with a Starbucks cup and a smile. “Hey Cas,” he says, and with no hesitation he lowers himself to the floor next to him, making himself comfortable.

“What are you doing here?” Castiel asks suspiciously. Dean is in his mechanic clothes once again. There is a swipe of black on his cheek that Castiel’s fingers are itching to rub away. He wonders if Dean’s skin is smooth or scratchy with scruff, fighting the even stronger urge to find out.

“Aw, come now darlin’,” Dean drawls. “Hurts my feelings when you pretend not to like me.”

“Maybe I’m not pretending,” Castiel counters.

“Nah,” Dean says confidently. “Everybody loves me. Besides, I’ve seen you staring at me.”

Castiel turns his head sharply. “I do not stare at you.”

“Charlie’s seen you looking at me,” he sing songs, only looking happier the more agitated Castiel gets. “I don’t blame you or nothin’ Cas. I’d look at me too.”

Castiel bites his lip and opens another box. “What are you doing here?” he repeats.

“Two things,” Dean answers, holding up two of his fingers. He holds out the Starbucks cup. “This is for you.”

The mermaid smiles cheerfully up at him from the cup. Castiel frowns. “This is Starbucks.”

“Really?” Dean turns the cup to study it, then looks at Cas, brow furrowed. “Tell me more.”

Castiel scowls at him.

“No really man. Not a joke. I could listen to your voice all day.”

Suddenly Castiel is self-conscious, and he clears his throat. “It’s Starbucks,” he says again. “They’re sucking money from small independent businesses by commercializing Christmas and other like holidays. And they don’t pay their taxes in England.”

Dean’s face breaks into a wide grin and he laughs, a full body laugh that causes his shoulders to shake and bump Castiel’s. “Drink it,” he encourages, pushing it at him. “It’s like Christmas in a cup.”

Castiel drinks it. It tastes like peppermint and caffeine. Whipped cream gathers on his lip and he licks it off, taking another sip. Dean watches this all with quiet interest.

“Fine, it’s good,” he concedes. “What was number two?”

“Number two?”

“You said there was a second reason for you being here,” Castiel reminds him, discreetly taking another sip of coffee before setting the cup down beside him and picking up his clipboard again. He’s not even halfway through all the dolls, and he would like to finish before he goes home for the evening.

“Oh yeah,” Dean says. “What days you got off?”

“Tomorrow, and then Thursdays, of course,” Castiel replies absently, staring at a doll. Her hair looks a shade darker than all the others, and he wonders if that’s cause for a defective tag. “Why do you ask?”

“I’ve gotta figure out the best day to ask you on a date.”

“What?”

“You think Thursdays work alright for you? Because they almost always need me here on the weekends.”

Dean looks completely serious, and the doll hangs forgotten in Castiel’s hand as he stares at him. “I don’t think…”

“I can do a Saturday if you really need me to,” Dean amends, grinning. “I’m flexible.”

“Why?” Castiel asks stupidly.

“When I was a kid my mom made me play a lot of sports,” Dean nods. “So, you know. I can touch my toes and all that shit.”

“What? No,” Castiel shakes his head. “Why the hell do you want to go on a date with me?”

“Oh, that. You seem really interesting,” Dean shrugs. “I like you. Wanna get to know you better. You’re attractive. That’s really all you need, right?”

“No. No.” He stands up. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Why?” Dean asks, standing up smoothly with him. He catches the look on Castiel’s face and purses his lips. “It’s not the damn Christmas thing, is it?”

Castiel shrugs helplessly. “You seem like a nice person,” he says, “I just don’t think it would be best to start dating you at this time.”

“Look dude. I’m not gonna promise you I’m gonna avoid talking about the holidays, or that I’m not gonna take you to look at a fucking Christmas tree, or something.” He frowns. “I think we’d have a good time together, Cas. You gotta trust me on this one.”

Castiel looks down. The doll is still in his hands, smiling demurely up at him with soft blue eyes. “I’ll think about it,” he says quietly.

Dean sighs. “Alright, fine. I’m not gonna stop trying though, Cas, not until you tell me no.”

“That’s okay,” Castiel tells him. He’s fairly certain as soon as he’s away from Dean, and from that intoxicating smell that seems to cling to him, that he’ll be able to think much clearer. He can say no next time.

“In the mean time we’ll be buddies,” Dean nudges him. “Gabe says you don’t really wander off of the toy floor.”

“Should I be?”

“Well, yeah, if you wanna meet other people,” Dean says, looking unimpressed. “Charlie’s awesome, but you haven’t talked to any of the cooks, or the perfume girls, or the guys down on one that’ll measure your inseam for ya.”

Castiel bends down to place the doll back into its box. “It’s just a store, Dean.”

“Just a store?” Dean sounds offended now. “Who the fuck told you this place is just a store?”

“The Yellow Pages.”

Dean ignores the joke. “This building’s a damn box full of interesting people and magic,” he informs him. “You won’t find anywhere in the world like Macy’s on State Street.”

“If you say so,” Castiel says, wondering how an eight floor department store could have inflicted such feeling into Dean. He trusts there must be something special about it, if Dean can be so passionate, but he can’t bring himself to believe that it’s as magical as Dean says it is.

Dean clearly doesn’t believe he’s sincere, Castiel can tell by the look on his face. He wishes Dean would start smiling again. “Perhaps you can show me.”

“Yeah?” Dean’s face lights up with a grin, and Castiel lets out the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

“Yes,” he nods solemnly. “I think I would like that.”

“Alright,” Dean’s grinning at him. “But it’s not a date, huh.”

“No, it’s not a date.”

Dean holds his hands up in surrender, but he still looks happy. “Fine with me.”

“Cas!” the door bangs open once again and Meg strides in. “It’s busy as fuck out there. Leave the dolls and go help Charlie. She looks like she’s about to cry, and while that’s amusing, it’s unprofessional.” She glances at Dean. “Don’t you have somewhere you need to be, Winchester?”

“Away from you,” Dean says lightly, winking at Castiel. “I’ll find ya Sunday, Cas. Have a good day off, you hear me?”

“I’ll try, thank you,” Cas tells him, watching him go with a small smile. When Dean leaves, he notices Meg watching him with her arms crossed.

“What?”

“Don’t have sex in here,” she says. “Crowley will have a fit if you guys get jizz all over the toys.”


	6. December 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lauren, the author, is out of the country and asked me to put chapters 6 and 7 up for her because she doesn't have access to the internet; putting them both up at the same time to make things easier! - Rachel (rabalaskas)

Castiel stares helplessly into the pot in front of him. How did he manage to burn _noodles_? Even in college he’d managed to make ramen. What was the difference between a microwave and a stovetop? Nothing, surely, as they both heated things quickly.

“Holy hell, Cassie, why does your apartment smell like you’ve been cooking?”

“Ha, ha,” Castiel deadpans, barely sparing Gabriel a glance as he dumps the whole mess in the pot into the sink. “How did you get in here?” Castiel’s certain he locked the door last night, and he hasn’t been out since then.

“What, like it’s hard?” Gabriel snorts. He’s leaning against the divider between Castiel’s family room and small kitchen, sucking on a candy cane. “If you think your valuables are safe in here, then have I got some bad news for you, baby bro.”

Castiel gives him a look. “Are you taking my things, Gabriel?”

“I would never!” Gabriel says, putting on an appropriately affronted air.

“Then I have nothing to worry about, do I?” Castiel sighs and looks around the kitchen. Noodles were really all he had for lunch. Maybe if he made it to dinner he could order take out.

“For god’s sake, Cassie, you’re an adult. Shouldn’t you know how to feed yourself by now?”

“Says the man who thinks breakfast is the marshmallows in a box of Lucky Charms,” Castiel shoots back. “Don’t you have work?”

“Not ‘til later,” Gabriel shrugs and his face lights up. “Hey! Wanna come get lunch at the store with me?”

“No.”

“Awwww, c’mon Cassie. I want to spend time with my ittiest, bittiest brother. Don’t you love me anymore?”

Castiel rubs a hand over his face. “You know full well that you’re the only brother I tolerate.”

“It’s those kinds of warm and gooey sentiments that I look forward to seeing on my birthday cards,” Gabriel tells him. “Come on, let’s go to the store. Maybe you’ll like it better when you’re not working.”

“You sound like Dean,” Castiel slips, wincing immediately and hoping Gabriel hadn’t heard.

Gabriel though, annoying as he is, seems to only really hear the things Castiel doesn’t want him to. “Oh ho ho! So you’re best friends with Dean now, huh? When did that happen, Cassiepoo?”

“We’re not friends,” Castiel says quickly, hoping to curb this kind of behavior before Gabriel tells Dean Castiel has been talking about him. He’d be sure to make it sound like Castiel couldn’t go through the day without gushing about him. “We run into each other at work, sometimes. I know he likes the store.”

“You run into each other at work, eh?” Gabriel says. “You mean Dean, who spends the day running all over the fucking store, manages to run into you multiple times in your little corner on the fifth level? That’s interesting, Cassie, very interesting.”

“Let’s go get lunch,” Castiel says quickly, conceding to Gabriel’s wishes purely to get him to shut up. If there’s one thing Gabriel will willingly allow himself to be distracted by, it’s food. Otherwise he’s like a dog with a bone.

“Sure, we’ll go get lunch, and on the way you can tell me about your new strapping young suitor,” Gabriel agrees, pulling Castiel towards the door. “We’re gonna have to play up your looks with pretty dresses, Cas. You don’t have much of a dowry to offer.”

“No doubt because you spent it all on candy and porn,” Castiel scowls. “I’m not going to play this game, Gabriel. There’s nothing going on here.”

“Yeah, which is why you’re so worked up about me teasing you, Mr. Stoic,” Gabriel snorts. “Man, can I hang out with you all the time? I might die of happiness if I get to witness your constipated look in the face of his ‘Christmas is great’ jerk off sessions.”

Castiel ignores him as they walk outside. They decide to get a taxi, it being too cold to walk and Castiel unenthusiastic about taking his brother anywhere near the L train and all the people down there who were sure to be annoyed if he even looked at them funny. Which Gabriel would, frequently. On purpose.

Along the way, Gabriel gets distracted by at least two Portillo’s, but refuses to yield when Castiel vainly suggests they eat there instead of the food court of Macy’s. “No way, Cassie. I want to meet this young man of yours.”

“Aren’t you friends with Dean?” Castiel asks in exasperation.

“More like we’ve got a mutual understanding,” Gabriel corrects. “We both don’t like talking to stupid people, and sometimes out definitions of those people include each other. It all works out.”

“That sounds like a very complicated relationship.”

“Keeps me on my toes,” Gabriel winks.

The taxi gets them within two blocks of the store before they’re sitting in traffic. When Gabriel complains, the driver shrugs. “Sorry fellas. State Street on a Saturday in December? Forget it.”

“Fine, we’ll walk.” Gabriel flings himself out of the car, leaving Castiel to apologize and pay the driver. He spends a miserable five minutes pushing through crowds of people moving against him on the sidewalk until he finally catches up with Gabriel, who’s already at the door of Macy’s. He’s able to catch a glimpse of a large crowd of people standing around the window closest to him, a flash of deep blue catching his attention before Gabriel yanks him inside.

Castiel would argue that it was more crowded inside the store than it was outside. After a week of working here, he was no stranger to the crazy amount of people that came in for material things each and every day, but this was the worst he had ever seen it. The ground floor was packed with people, all milling around and shouting at one another, or trying to catch the attention of an employee that simply did not have time for them.

“Ah,” Gabriel took a deep breath, like he was taking it all in. “Saturdays.”

“Is it always like this?” Castiel asks, enormously grateful Meg had given him Saturdays off.

“Please, this isn’t even as close to as bad as it could be,” Gabriel informs him. “Just wait for the weekend before Christmas.”

“I don’t think I want to see that.”

“Sure you do! It’s a thing of beauty,” Gabriel says, gesturing towards the escalators. “Come on, let’s go upstairs.”

“Upstairs?”

“I’m getting tired of the café food. I want some fancy Seven on State shit.”

Seven On State are the restaurants that make up the seventh floor. They tend to be more expensive and better quality, which would explain why Gabriel prefers them. Castiel’s never eaten there, but he’s heard his brother rave over some type of pasta dish he promised to make babies with one day.

Castiel didn’t want to know.

Of course at lunch time this floor seems to be the most crowded of all, and Castiel immediately loses Gabriel as he pushes aggressively through the crowd on his quest for food. Castiel can’t be as bothered, and he lets the flow of the crowd take him through the open floor space and through a wide open doorway into a grandiose room.

The ceiling is high and textured, the Grecian pillars from downstairs are back, and there are people everywhere. But the first thing that catches Castiel’s eye is the giant Christmas tree smack in the middle of the room. He realizes he’s found his way into the Walnut Room, the highest dining Macy’s has to offer.

Something’s off about the Christmas tree, and as Castiel stares at it trying to figure it out he’s surprised to see Dean settled on the platform the tree is set on, legs dangling off the side. He shouldn’t be surprised, really. If something is wrong with the tree, of course Dean is there to fix it.

Suddenly Dean looks up, and somehow his eyes immediately find Castiel’s. “Cas!” he calls out, and though it’s not very loud over the noise all the diners are making, Castiel still blushes, making his way over to Dean as quickly as possible so that he won’t call out again.

“You look like a candy cane,” Dean informs him when Castiel finally reaches the platform. The smell of pine that usually surrounds Dean is even more overwhelming. Castiel wonders if it is inherent to Dean, or if it only appears around Christmas because of how much time he spends around the trees.

“I don’t,” is Castiel’s amazing comeback, but Dean still smiles at him.

“Thank god you’re here, man. I could really use the help.”

“What are you doing?” Castiel asks, tilting his head back to look at the tree. So far the people sitting at the tables nearest are ignoring them, for which Castiel is grateful. He feels foolish, standing beside Dean while he sits above him on the platform.

He’s not sure if Dean realizes this, but suddenly his legs are hooking around Castiel’s waist and pulling him closer. It’s affectionate without being demanding or sexual, and Castiel finds he doesn’t mind at all. Dean isn’t even looking at him, but instead down at the string of lights Castiel finally notices are tangled over his lap.

“Course the strand of lights right in the middle of the tree gotta go out, right?” Dean asks with a shake of his head. “There’s nothing wrong with ‘em either. They just died. Fuckers.” He tosses them away and stretches, reaching for something back at the base of the tree. Castiel catches a glimpse of tanned golden skin before Dean straightens up and his shirt falls once again. “Anyway, I got a new box, but if you could help me put ‘em up, I’d—,” he stops abruptly. “You ogling me, Cas?”

“What?” Cas squints at him like he doesn’t understand. He had been staring, but he wasn’t going to admit it. “No.”

“Sure,” Dean leers at him and hops up, bending over to hold his hand out to Castiel. “Come on, I’ve got to get these fixed before the lunch rush.”

“This isn’t the rush?” Castiel asks in disbelief, accepting Dean’s hand and climbing up onto the platform.

“Man, you ain’t seen nothing yet,” he grins, unraveling the new strand of lights and handing the end to Castiel. “See that plug right there? Pop it in.”

Castiel does, connecting the new strand to the ones already on the tree. Dean begins winding the lights through the empty branches, and Castiel watches carefully. He’s never seen this done before. “Do the lights usually die?”

“Sometimes. Sometimes they last all season, and then I’ve got to spend the next year freaking out that every single one of them is gonna go out right before the light show or something.”

“Light show?”

Dean leans around the tree to smile at him. “Fucking awesome light show, Cas. You gotta see it sometime.”

“Okay,” Castiel agrees. He’s starting to realize it’s very, very hard to say no to Dean.

A few minutes later, he’s back in front of Cas again, hands empty but sticky with sap. “All finished, thanks man.”

Castiel raises an eyebrow. “Did you even need me up here?”

Dean rubs the back of his neck and then grimaces, probably from how sticky his hands are. “Maybe,” he says quietly. “Or maybe I just wanted you up here with me.”

Castiel stares at him. Dean is close, so close, and this is the first time he can remember that Dean won’t meet his eye. His heart starts beating faster without his permission as Dean seems to inch closer. He wonders if he’s going to kiss him.

“Well looky here, folks! Dean and Cassie, sittin’ under a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G!”

Castiel groans, and Dean is so close he can practically feel the other man’s smile. “Meet me at Santa’s Toyland tomorrow, okay?” he whispers, pulling back with a cheerful, “suck a dick, Gabe.”

“Jesus, Winchester, think of the children.”

If Dean answers, Castiel doesn’t hear as he climbs down carefully off the platform and stalks past Gabriel.

“You’re a horrible person,” he says as he passes.

“I do my best,” his brother answers proudly.


	7. December 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lauren, the author, is out of the country and asked me to put chapters 6 and 7 up for her because she doesn't have access to the internet; putting them both up at the same time to make things easier! - Rachel (rabalaskas)

Castiel sincerely hopes that Dean didn’t ask him to come here for a secret liaison.

Not that he believes Dean would do that. Castiel had, after all, turned him down for a date, so there’s no reason for Dean to think Castiel would want to do something like that. Even if he is a little curious. About a liaison and what a date with Dean would be like.

Regardless, this is not the place he would want to do either one of those things. Santa’s Toyland is what he assumes is usually a large room during the year, but now it’s been decorated so that there’s a pathway. Kids and their parents enter the room and follow the pathway all the way through a magical Toyland, straight to Santa’s chair. A large jack-in-the-box is grinning creepily at him, and Castiel does his best to avoid its gaze, idiotic as that sounds.

As far as Castiel knows, there’s no one else here, as the door had been closed with a sign hanging on it claiming Santa was out feeding his reindeer. However it’d been unlocked, and Castiel was loath to miss out on whatever Dean wanted with him here.

He resolves to leave if Dean doesn’t show up in the next five minutes. It’s not like he wants to know that badly.

“Can’t ya read, idgit? Sign says I’m on a break.”

Castiel looks up in surprise. Santa Claus is scowling at him. “I thought you were feeding your reindeer.”

“Ah, balls,” Santa says. “There any kids around?”

Castiel looks around, although he has no idea way. He’d already established that no one was in here. “No.”

Santa peels off his white beard, only to reveal a shorter, gray one underneath. He pulls off his hat to reveal thinning brown hair, also beginning to turn gray. “I sweat more n’a priest in a whorehouse in this get up,” Santa grumbles. “You work here, huh? Bobby Singer.”

“Castiel.”

“Castiel,” he grunts. “Weird name.”

“So I’ve heard,” Castiel nods, shifting awkwardly. Where is Dean? “So you’re… Santa.”

“So I’ve heard,” Bobby parrots. “Not too hard. I get to sit all day. Kids bring me cookies.”

“It sounds like a dream job,” Castiel replies honestly. Actually, it sounds like the kind of thing Gabriel would like to do. Maybe he would become Santa once he grew old.

“I get by,” Bobby says, frowning suddenly. “Any reason you’re in here, kid?”

“Bobby?” a deep voice calls, accompanied seconds later by the largest man Castiel has ever seen. He has to be at least half a foot taller than Castiel, and he towers over Bobby. Unbelievingly, that isn’t the most noticeable thing about him. Like Gabriel had been a few days earlier, he’s wearing bright green pants and a matching green shirt with a pointy red collar. A pointy red and green striped stocking cap with the bell on the end is covering his long hair and highlights his pointed elf ears.

Castiel knows he’s staring, but he simply can’t look away.

“Oh, hey,” the giant says. “Sorry, I didn’t know anyone else was in here.”

“Way to break protocol, Sam.”

“Like it’s a big deal,” Sam rolls his eyes, than pauses, turning back to Castiel, “I mean, you don’t still believe in Santa, do you?”

“Whaddya think? I already got my beard off.” Bobby shakes his head. “Idgit.”

“I’ve never really believed in Santa,” Castiel says truthfully.

“Wow, really?” Sam asks sympathetically. “That sucks, man. I’m sorry.”

“I don’t mind.”

He grins in return. “Guess it’s kind of ingrained in me. This breaking the magic deal is the kind of thing that would kill my brother.”

“Your brother’s got a few screws loose in his noggin’.”

“You know telling him that doesn’t make him love Christmas any less, right?” Sam asks. Castiel is beginning to suspect that he knows who this is. “Anyway, I’m Sam Winchester. You’re new here, aren’t you? What’s your name?”

“Castiel,” he answers, studying Dean’s brother. “Now that he’s paying attention, he can see the family resemblance. They have the same smile, and Castiel can tell Sam has Dean’s confidence just by the way he stands.

“Castiel?” Sam’s eyes go wide. “I know all about you.”

He presumes this means Dean has told his brother all about how he feels about Christmas, although Sam isn’t looking at him any differently. Maybe that means he doesn’t feel as strongly about Christmas as Dean does. Although Dean hadn’t really seemed to care all that much when he’d found out either.

“My brother talks about you all the time,” Sam’s saying. “He won’t shut up about all the shit he wants to show you in the store.”

That… had not been what Castiel expected. “He says it’s magical here.”

Bobby snorts loudly, and Sam shoots him a glare. “Don’t be a hypocrite, Bobby.”

“I know, I know,” Bobby sighs. “Just can’t believe of the two of you he’s the kid who turned out to be as idealistic as me.”

“Yeah, well, what did you expect?” Sam asks cryptically.

They’re speaking like family, like Castiel imagines what his conversations must look like to outsiders who observe his and Gabriel’s conversations, and he wonders what Bobby is to the Winchester brothers. Surely he can’t be their father, though the way he’s currently bantering with Sam makes it almost seem that way. There’s a casual familiarity to it that reminds Castiel more of a friendship than a parent/child relationship.

“Where is Dean?” Castiel asks, cutting off their argument.

“Dean?” Sam asks blankly. “Probably messing around with something in the store.”

“Or someone,” Bobby mutters darkly.

Sam opens his mouth to retort when the door to Toyland bangs open, Dean rushing inside. “I’m here!” he gasps. “Sorry, one of the elves down in number seven went on the fritz.”

All of this is gibberish to Castiel, and luckily he’s saved from having to say anything in response by Sam. “Dude, you were just making him wait up here?”

“I wasn’t planning on being late, Sammy,” Dean says, smiling sheepishly at Castiel. “So, uh, guess you met my Uncle Bobby and my brother Sam. Were they behaving?”

“I was delightful,” Bobby says. He’s busy shrugging out of his Santa suit, a pair of jeans and a flannel on underneath. When he’s finished, he tosses them to Sam. “I’m gonna get some grub, boy. Don’t forget to eat.”

“Sure,” Sam says, nose wrinkling at the clothes behind Bobby’s back as he leaves. “I guess I’ll go change too. I’m starting to feel ridiculous.”

“You passed that mark about six years ago, Hermy,” Dean says seriously.

“Dude, that joke is older than your car.”

“Still younger than your face,” Dean retorts.

Sam flips him off. “It was nice to meet you Castiel,” he says, heading out the door after Bobby.

“You too,” Castiel manages to say before the door closes behind him. Dean is looking at him. “What?”

“Nothing,” Dean smiles. “Just good to see you.”

Castiel purses his lips and looks very hard at the ground. “Why did you call Sam that?”

“What?” Dean says in confusion, before realization dawns on his face. “Oh, you mean Hermy? Because Hermy was the elf that wanted to be a dentist, and Sam’s the elf that wants to be a lawyer.”

Castiel feels his lip turning up in a small smile. “That’s actually quite clever.”

“I got my moments,” Dean agrees. “So. Want me to show you around?”

Castiel had already been through most of Toyland when he first entered the room, but he doesn’t want to spoil it for Dean by telling him. So he lets Dean pull him around the room, pointing out different toys he’s particularly fond of. Castiel has to admit, there was a lot he’d missed the first time around.

“And this is the big man’s chair,” Dean says proudly when they’ve finally reached the end of the path. Santa Claus’ chair is more like a small couch, with a large red cushion as the seat and a plush cushioned back. It looks incredibly comfortable, and Castiel wonders what it would be like to sit in.

Dean seems to have no qualms about doing exactly what Cas is thinking, throwing himself down on the chair and giving a happy hum of contentment. “This is one of my favorite places,” he says, patting the space of cushion next to him. “Come on, Cas, sit.”

Castiel hesitates. It doesn’t feel like he should be allowed. He’d never really had the chance to believe in Santa Claus, had only written him a letter once. If he sat in the chair he feels like he’d be sullying it, like somehow all his bitter feelings on the matter would seep into the material itself and infect every child who came to tell Santa their Christmas wish.

Dean though, is looking at him hopefully, with steady eyes and a calm face. Surely Dean, with all his goodness, can counteract anything bad Castiel puts into the chair.

He sits gingerly on the edge.

Dean lets him be for a few minutes before speaking up. “Quiet today, huh?”

“I’ve been thinking,” Castiel says abruptly. “About dating you.”

He hadn’t, really, choosing to ignore the matter until Bobby had reminded him of it with his comment. But the look on Dean’s face is so surprised and delighted that he decides to keep going.

“Yeah?” Dean asks with barely concealed interest. “What about dating me?”

“Bobby tells me you mess around with a lot of people in the store. I just want to be sure I’m not one of them?”

“What?” Dean asks indignantly. “Old man needs to mind his own business. He’s just mad because I got around to asking Jo out before he had the balls to start dating her old woman.” He frowns. “Cas, you’re the first person I’ve tried to date in months.”

“Oh,” Castiel says, feeling slightly taken aback. “I feel like I should inform you that my statement was not a serious one.”

Dean takes a moment, and then he begins to laugh. “You were joking?”

“I was attempting,” he frowns.

“Dude, I’m sorry,” Dean says, still laughing. “That was a shitty joke.”

“Yes, I gather from your reaction.”

“You joked again! Dude, I’m ruining you.”

Castiel smiles and bumps his shoulder. “It seems that way.”

At the touch to his shoulder Dean springs from the chair, pulling Castiel with him. “So, you’ll go on a date with me?”

“One,” Castiel tells him. Dean is so intriguing that he supposes it can’t hurt to try going on a date with him. If something really bothers him he can always decline the next time around. That is, if there is a next time around. It’s not as if this automatically means Dean is his boyfriend.

Castiel scowls slightly at his thoughts. It was just one date.

Without him noticing, Dean had managed to herd him out of Toyland and into the main department store once again. “Am I keeping you from work?” he asks over his shoulder.

Castiel glances back in the direction of the toy department. He has been gone for longer than he’d expected to be. “Yes.”

“Good,” Dean says, smirking when he sees Castiel’s face. “Come on, this will only take a second.”

He leads him to the elevator, something Castiel has never been in since the escalator is much quicker. Dean seems determined to wait though, tapping his foot until the door dings and open, customers spilling out. Dean rushes in before everyone else who is waiting, turning abruptly. “Can you guys take the next one?” he asks. “I just need this for a second.”

As Dean says this Castiel is watching him continually jab at the ‘close door’ button, and luckily before there are too many protests from the mothers with strollers and those with too many bags to take the stairs, the doors close.

“Dean,” Castiel says slowly. “This may be a stupid question, but why are we alone in the elevator?”

Dean just tilts his head at him. “Look up,” he says quietly.

Castiel looks up. There is a single strand of mistletoe hanging from the elevator ceiling.

“Oh,” he says dumbly.

“Smooth as fuck, aren’t I?” Dean asks proudly before giving him a quick kiss. The doors ding open and loud angry voices rush in, people grumbling at Dean. Dean just grins, squeezes Cas’ hand, and disappears from the elevator.

Cas doesn’t move until it reaches the lower level.


	8. December 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, I'm really sorry about this being late. You have no idea how bad I feel. I got back late from my trip last night and I just didn't have the energy to do anything. I'm hoping to get December 9 up later today so we're back on track.

Rude wake up calls seem to have become normal in Castiel’s life lately. Before his alarm even had a chance to go off, his bedroom door burst open to reveal Gabriel.

“Breakfast buffet!” he had crowed loudly before leaving Castiel to get dressed. He supposed he should be more grateful his brother hadn’t stuck around to watch. Gabriel had the amazing ability to never feel awkwardness, simultaneously making everyone around him feel even more awkward. Staying in the room to watch his brother strip was not something Castiel would put past him doing.

His shift wasn’t until ten, but the breakfast buffet Gabriel was so excited about started at seven, before the store was even open. So this is how Castiel finds himself standing outside the Randall Street entrance to Macy’s before he even has to be there, watching Gabriel bounce excitedly on his toes as they stood in line waiting for the doors to open.

“Is there any reason we had to be here by 6:45?” Castiel grumbles. Gabriel hadn’t allowed him to stop for coffee, insisting they’d be able to grab some inside.“Breakfast is until ten.”

“Everyone knows the first batch of a buffet is always the best, Cassie,” Gabriel informs him cheerfully. Way too cheerful for how early it is. “The cooks don’t give a fuck after about the sixth millionth tray of bacon.”

Times like this are when Castiel is reminded of how much Gabriel had wanted to be a chef when they were growing up. In their family, food was something that just appeared before you, not something lovingly created by people, and culinary school had been the big joke between their older brothers for a few years. Gabriel hadn’t gone, out of a lingering sense of duty to the family or just from sheer lack of money, Castiel didn’t know. Sometimes he wishes his brother could have done it – he’d have no doubt been amazing. But he seemed happy in his candy shop, and in true Novak fashion, Castiel has never tried to talk to him about it.

“Why does Macy’s do breakfast anyway?” Castiel asks. As far as he can see, everyone waiting around them is dressed for work, shifting impatiently in their suits and tapping away on their phones as they pass the time until the doors open. He doubts any of them will actually appreciate the breakfast before they rush off to their office buildings, and wonders what is so special about it that they’d choose to wait out here instead of just grabbing a bagel.

“Because it’s Christmas,” a familiar voice says from behind him. Castiel turns to find Dean, flanked by Sam. They seem to have just showed up, cheeks red from the cold. Dean is back in his ridiculous hat with the pom pom, although the Christmas tree gloves are missing today. Castiel is kind of sad about that.

“Why am I not even the tiniest bit surprised to see you two here?” Gabriel drawls.

“Probably because you listened to me complain about how Dean refuses to make breakfast for me until Christmas morning,” Sam rolls his eyes.

“You deserve it,” Dean tells him with a frown. “Who the fuck thinks wrapping an entire car is funny?”

“You like opening presents!” Sam argues as Gabriel laughs uproariously.

“You wrapped my fucking car!”

Castiel lets out a surprised chuckle. “How did it look?”

Dean’s eyes soften as Sam happily pulls out his phone and taps the screen before passing it to Castiel. The picture is of a large, boxy looking car wrapped in red and white striped wrapping paper with a huge green bow on top. The whole thing looks meticulously done, with everything covered but the wheels. Sam reaches over to swipe the screen again, the next picture of a now unwrapped sleek looking black car, wrapping paper strewn about and Dean with a very annoyed expression on his face.

“Looks like Christmas came early, huh Deano?” Gabriel laughs.

Dean scowls. “It took me forever to peel all that tape off. Sam is damn lucky it didn’t take any of the paint with it.”

“You barely drive it during the winter anyway,” Sam says. “I was just making sure you didn’t forget about it.”

“Obviously I pay her visits or I wouldn’t have discovered your damn prank.”

“Her?” Castiel questions. He thinks the only time he’s ever heard an inanimate object referred to with a gendered pronoun is in a movie once, and it was being used to talk about a ship.

“Yeah, her,” Dean smiles proudly. “She’s my baby. We should go driving sometime in the summer, Cas, you’d like her.”

“That could be nice,” Castiel says quietly. He doesn’t know where he’ll be in the summer.

From the sound of the movement the people were now making in front of them, the doors are finally opening. Castiel gratefully hurries in from the cold, the heavy warmth of the store settling over his shoulders like a blanket. It’s strange to see it like this, empty and quiet as they are hurried up the escalators to the Walnut Room.

Upstairs there is as much hustle and bustle as ever. Instead of the small round tables surrounding the large round platform and the Christmas tree that Castiel had seen last time he was in the restaurant, the entire perimeter of the room was now lined with long tables, weighed down heavily with heated platters of food. One wall was being used for fruit and pastries, one for drinks and cereals, and the longest table at the back was filled with hot foods.

Gabriel is practically vibrating next to him. The lady at the hostess stand tells them breakfast is twenty dollars, and Castiel has never seen his brother fork over money so fast. He hands his over reluctantly, since he’s really only here for the coffee (though really, the amount of coffee he drinks during the day is probably about twenty dollars worth anyway) and heads after Gabriel. With how fast he has to walk to catch up, he quickly loses Sam and Dean in the crowd.

Five minutes later, Gabriel has shoved something called a Frango coffee into his hands. He laughs when Castiel gulps it down and tells him there’s alcohol in it, but all Castiel can taste is mint chocolate and caffeine, so he heads back for more while Gabriel continues to fill his plate.

They manage to get a table right next to the forty-five foot high Christmas tree. Sam joins them quickly after they sit down, and Castiel feels a warm feeling of acceptance that he doesn’t even feel like he has to ask. Dean appears soon after, plate piled high with food, but the moment he sees Cas sitting there with his coffee mug with whipped cream, he sets his plate down and disappears again.

“Prepare yourself to be gruffly babied,” Sam tells him as he shovels a spoonful of cereal into his mouth.

“What?” Castiel asks in confusion. Sam doesn’t have to answer as a plate filled with scrambled eggs, bacon, and red and green confetti studded pancakes is set down in front of him.

“Awwwww,” Gabriel says very loudly. “Thanks for taking care of baby brother Cassie, Deano.”

“He looked hungry,” Dean replies, a touch defensively. He then sits down and begins eating, not looking at Cas.

Castiel stares at his pancakes for a moment before cutting into them and taking a bite. They’re delicious, and suddenly he’s ravenous as he wolfs them down.

“So,” Dean says casually. “I was thinking this Thursday for our date.”

Several things happen simultaneously. Sam says, “Date?” very loudly, Gabriel lets out an annoying noise of excitement and gloating, and Castiel chokes on his pancakes, both from the surprise and from the hard slap on the back he promptly receives from his brother.

Nobody seems all that concerned about this, as Dean is busy fending off Sam’s sudden barrage of questions and Gabriel is watching with fascinated delight. Luckily he doesn’t die as he manages to swallow a third of his coffee in one go.

“Since when are you _dating_?” Sam is asking, pointing his fork in a vaguely threatening manner at Dean. “You didn’t tell me.”

“We’re not dating,” Dean protests. “We’re going on a date. There’s a big difference Sammy.”

“Fine,” Sam concedes, pouting. “I just can’t believe you didn’t tell me.”

“I’m not getting married, Sam, jesus. Be offended when I don’t tell you then.”

“Hey, Deanareano, listen up,” Gabriel says. He’s pointing with his butter knife, probably in an attempt to one up Sam’s threatening gesture. “There are a couple of questions you need to answer before you get to date my little bro.”

“Yeah?” Dean asks, quirking an eyebrow.

“Yeah,” Gabriel nods solemnly. “Dean,” he says gravely, clearing his throat importantly. “Do you promise to make Castiel the happiest man alive by fucking him within an inch of his uptight ass’s life?”

“Gabriel,” Castiel growls lowly, more horrified than anything else.

“Calm down Cassie, it was a joke.” Gabriel sits back and resumes eating. “Treat him right or I’ll kill you.”

“As Dean mentioned before, this is only one date,” Castiel tells him, frowning. “I’d appreciate if you kept out of it.”

“Where are you even going anyway?”

Castiel’s gaze shoots to Dean and he tries to convey with his eyes that he really, really doesn’t want Gabriel to know. Dean either doesn’t notice or doesn’t think it’s a very big deal, since he shrugs and says, “Christkindlmarket.”

Castiel tries unsuccessfully to bite back his groan.

“I don’t think you could have picked a more Christmas-y thing to do if you suggested stuffing tree lights up your asses and riding a sleigh around this room while singing Jingle Bells and throwing handfuls of fake snow into the crowd,” Gabriel says.

Dean is staring at him. “You’re fucking disturbing, Gabe.”

Castiel kicks his brother under the table.

“Wait, am I missing something here?” Sam asks. “What’s wrong with Christmas?”

“Nothing,” Castiel says quickly. The list of people that know about his many and varied problems does not need to grow, even if it is Dean’s brother.

Gabriel seems to think differently. “Cassie hates it.”

“Oh,” Sam replies, for some reason sending a suspicious side-eyed look at his brother. “There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“Nope,” Dean agrees, taking a large gulp of coffee.

“Does make him the odd one out at all the festivities though,” Gabriel nods. “Hey Cas, did you tell Dean about that office Christmas party where you knocked over the Christmas tree and accused your Secret Santa of sexual harassment?”

“All of those things were an accident,” Castiel says stubbornly, kicking his brother harder.

“No, all of this sounds really interesting, keep going,” Dean says, leaning forward. “How tall was the tree?”

“That’s what you found most interesting about that story?” Castiel asks incredulously, looking up. Dean is smiling at him, and Castiel realizes he must have been joking.

The table they’re sitting at isn’t too big, and Dean’s leaning forward has caused him to come almost face to face with Castiel. With Dean so close, Castiel is violently reminded of the kiss he had given him yesterday. It had been chaste and quick, not at all what he had expected from Dean, and he’d spent a lot of time last night wondering why. From the three seconds their lips had been pressed together, he could have sworn he felt something, and he desperately wants to try it again, for longer this time, to see if his memory was correct.

Luckily Dean is thinking straighter than Castiel and clearly isn’t planning on lunging across the table to kiss him in front of their brothers and the entire Walnut Room (not that Castiel had been considering that, and even if he had, he has the alcohol to blame). Instead he just says lowly, too low for Sam and Gabriel to hear, “Tomorrow I’ll start showing you the store, alright?”

“Alright,” Castiel nods, licking his lips. Dean’s eyes follow the movement and Castiel feels a flash of hope. Maybe Dean will kiss him again tomorrow.


	9. December 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright guys, I suck. It's finals, and I really need all the time I can get until Friday, and then Saturday I'll be flying back to America from London. I'm pretty sure I can still get up a chapter a day, but I'm not going to be able to catch up on that extra chapter I missed until the weekend when I'm home.
> 
> Really sorry guys. I thought I had this handled.
> 
> On the other hand, happy December 10th! Here's December 9th.

Castiel has found, surprisingly, that the closer they get to Christmas the easier work becomes. Sure, more and more people appear to complain every day, but somehow he’s become more numb to it. Besides, the more people there are, the faster his shift goes by. Castiel will find himself finishing an eight hour shift in what only seems like an hour, the constant stream of people and endless Christmas songs and noise giving him no real sense of time.

Because of this, it’s a bit of a shock to have Dean appear at what seems like only two hours into his shift, waiting patiently until Castiel finishes ringing up his customer.

“Hey,” he says, stepping forward after the customer has left and leaning against the counter. “Meg said I could take you for your break now.”

Castiel frowns. “It’s only ten.”

“Dude, it’s like, noon.” Dean smiles, but the gesture doesn’t quite reach his eyes, and Castiel’s frown grows deeper. Something seems…off about Dean today. Like he’s not all here.

“Are we going for lunch?”

“Brought you a sandwich,” Dean’s hand slips out of his jacket pocket to show him the plastic wrapped sandwich he’s palming. “Thought we could go somewhere else today.”

“Dean Winchester,” suddenly Charlie is leaning around Castiel, and she must be on her tip toes, because she’s almost managed to make it up to his shoulder. “Are you seducing my co-workers?”

“Seduction implies reciprocation,” Castiel tells her.

“Aw, Cas, you’re definitely seducing me though. Listen to all that sweet talk you keep trottin’ out.”

Charlie rolls her eyes. “You’re ridiculous, Dean. Where are you two going?”

Dean hesitates before he answers. “Downstairs.”

“Ohhhhh!” Charlie’s eyes light up. “I wanna come!”

“Gee, I wonder why?”

“Shut up,” Charlie slaps his arm and moves away from Castiel, walking backwards as she talks. “Just let me go grab something and then we can go.”

“Aren’t you working?” Dean calls after her. All Castiel can hear in response to the question is Charlie laughing.

“What’s downstairs?” he asks. He knows what departments are down there, and most of them have to do with formal attire and beauty products. He has no idea what Dean might want to show him.

“It’s a surprise,” Dean tells him. “Charlie just wants to come because she knows we’re going to see Gilda.”

“Oh,” Castiel says, like this makes sense to him.

Dean is unnaturally quiet while they wait for Charlie, and Castiel spends quite a few minutes waffling between whether he should talk or not. There are many things he could say – he has not gotten tired of hearing anything Dean has to talk about. But he is unsure why Dean is upset and doesn’t want to accidentally make it worse. It may just be that Dean doesn’t really want to talk to Castiel at all.

He finds himself as quite as Dean by the time Charlie returns.

“Geez, who died?” Charlie jokes, looking at their faces.

“Dumbledore,” Dean replies without missing a beat, which for some reason causes Charlie to hit him again and starts a flurry of conversation over a man named Snape. The argument seems to revolve around whether the man was good or evil, and though Castiel has never read Harry Potter (he manages to gather this is the book series the conversation stems from) he’s of the opinion that anybody with a name like Snape must be a villain. He says as much, causing Dean to give a surprised laugh.

Charlie grins at him. “See, Dean? Cas is on my side.”

“Look, not saying the dude wasn’t a complete asshole,” Dean shrugs. “But he was doing what he did for family.”

The escalators have finally carried them to the bottom floor, and as Dean steps off and starts leading them Castiel realizes they’re heading away from the clothes and towards the beauty section of the department store. Which is…interesting to him. If Dean wanted to show him the magic of Macy’s, he wouldn’t have pegged make up as the way he’d choose to do it.

“Sam and I played hide and seek in those all the time when we were kids.”

Castiel turns his attention to Dean, who is looking out at the sea of clothes racks as they pass by women’s wear. “Were you here a lot as children?”

Dean’s mouth twists up into something like a smile. “Oh yeah. You know Bobby? We went to live with him when I was twelve. He’s store manager, used to come in here all the time after school until his work day was done.”

“Bobby is the store manager?” Castiel asks, taken aback. He’s never had the opportunity to meet with anybody but Meg, not even Crowley, who ran the F.A.O Schwarz. It was a bit off putting to hear that his boss had called him an idgit and thought Dean was messing around with him.

“Yeah,” Dean raises an eyebrow. “I know what you’re thinking. He’s a huge teddy bear. Keeps telling us he only plays Santa each year because there’s no one else for the job, but when Ellen suggested hiring the job out to a company he refused.”

“Bobby scares me,” Charlie pipes up. “He’s always growling at me.”

“That’s because you call him Larry the Cable Guy behind his back.”

“Which he didn’t know until you told him!”

“Oh yeah,” Dean grins. “That was fucking hilarious.”

Castiel has gone back to staring at the clothes racks. With how small they are, he simply cannot imagine Dean or Sam being able to hide in them at all. “Were you two ever small?”

It’s a non sequitur, but Dean seems to realize where his train of thought has gone immediately. “We had to stop when Sam was fourteen,” he says. “Kid shot up like a weed.”

Even talking about Sam, Dean hasn’t truly smiled. Castiel is beginning to worry about him, but the only thing he knows to do is to let Dean continue talking. When Gabriel gets into bad moods, he knows to leave him alone, so he may as well just let Dean do whatever it is Dean does when he’s upset.

They’ve made it to the brightly lit open area that makes up the beauty section, counters for different brands haphazardly placed like a disorganized market. Various women are milling around the area, stopping at counters for samples or to ask a question. Dean brings them straight to a smooth, white rounded counter with the word ‘CLINIQUE’ emblazoned in silvery gray on the side.

A pretty woman with long blonde ringlets piled on top of her head is standing at the counter in a pristine white lab coat, miraculously not busy with a customer. She smiles when she sees them, straightening up. “Hey Dean!” she calls.

“Hey Jess,” Dean says easily. “We here on time?”

“Yup, Mrs. Mosley should be here in a few minutes,” she says cheerfully. “Charlie, Gilda is on break if you want to go meet her.”

“Say hey to Missouri for me!” Charlie tells Dean before disappearing into the crowd.

“I’m Castiel,” Cas introduces himself, holding out his hand to Jess. “I work upstairs.”

“Oh, shit, sorry guys,” Dean says. “This is Jess. She’s been here for about a year.” He leans closer and whispers, “Sammy has a giant, girly crush on her.”

As if by magic, Sam appears at the table just then, a takeout bag of Chinese food in his hand. When he spots Dean, he reddens slightly, ducking his head. “I got lunch, Jess.”

“Aw, Sammy, that’s so sweet,” Dean coos. Sam resolutely does not look at Dean.

“Thank you Sam!” Jess smiles widely at him, and Sam’s face instantly brightens in response, like a flower turning towards the sun. “I have one more appointment, but I should be there to meet you in about an hour.”

“Okay. I’ll, uh, keep it warm for you,” Sam says, and shooting Dean a dirty look as he continues to make small noises of adoration, he hurries away.

“Now Dean Winchester, I know you’re not torturing your poor little brother.”

“No, of course not,” Dean says automatically. The woman who has appeared at the counter is older than Castiel had expected, but her eyes hold a spark of youth, along with an incredibly knowing look. Castiel hasn’t even opened his mouth in front of her yet and he feels like she knows everything about him.

For some reason, Dean lets out a huge snort. “I knew you two were gonna have a creepy soul stare off.”

“Behave, boy,” she says, smacking at him. “Where are you manners? Who is this young man?”

“Ow,” he frowns petulantly, rubbing at his arm. “Mrs. Mosley, this is Cas. Cas, Missouri Mosley. She’s been coming here to get her makeup done since about the fifties.”

“Watch it, boy,” Missouri warns, hauling herself up into the high chair next to the counter. “Hello Jessica dear.”

“Hi, Mrs. Mosley,” Jessica smiles. “You have a Christmas party to go to, don’t you?”

“That’s right,” she nods. “Just my usual will do.”

Castiel watches Jessica bustle around grabbing various bottles and containers he doesn’t fully understand. It’s new, something interesting to watch, but he’s not totally sure why he’s here. He thought Dean was supposed to be showing him something special, and he didn’t see anything here at all.

“Dean,” he murmurs, leaning closer to him. To his surprise, Dean leans back, until their shoulders are pressed firmly together. Luckily he’s used to adapting to strange situations, and taking it all in stride, he continues, “Why are we here?”

Dean glances at him, but it’s Mrs. Mosley who says something first. “How long have you been working here, Castiel?”

“About a week, ma’am.”

“You like it?”

“It’s not horrible,” Castiel allows.

Missouri chuckles, her eyes closed to let Jessica run a small brush over her eyelids. “There’s a lot of history here in this store. It’s seen a lot of things.”

“Used to be a Marshall Fields,” Dean agrees, nodding. “It’s the first department store to have a restaurant, lots of other firsts.”

“Couldn’t usually come in here, when I was a little girl,” Missouri continues. “But boy did I want to. My mama saved up all year, and at Christmas time, she’d bring me and my little brother in to eat chicken pot pie in the Walnut Room. It was her special gift to us. Everyone was real nice, always treating us respectfully. Seemed like a fairy world.” Jessica steps back and Missouri opens her eyes, now dusted in a light shade of gold. “Didn’t start coming here again until my husband died. Still seems like a fairy world to me.”

“Mostly because I started decorating some of the women’s department with sugar plum fairies,” Dean says.

“Yes, sometimes you can be a very nice young man,” Missouri smiles. “You two go off and eat your lunch now. I know you’re hungry, and I can’t have you seeing all of Jessica’s secrets.”

Jessica nods in agreement. “Some of this stuff is pretty hardcore.”

Dean gently grabs Cas’ elbow to lead him away, allowing Castiel to wave goodbye to Missouri before he turns to follow Dean. “I think I see now.”

Dean laughs. “It was that easy?”

“Perhaps not fully,” Castiel amends, but I see why you wanted me to meet Mrs. Mosley.”

Missouri, like Dean, had been affected by this store. She’d grown up with it and looked forward to going here every year. She’d made it sound like a paradise, a light Castiel had never pictured the place in before. The store at Christmas made her happy, just like Dean. ”Dean,” he says quietly. “Are you alright?”

“Alright?” Dean asks, shooting him a glance. “Why?”

“You seemed not as happy as usual today,” Castiel shrugs.

Dean looks surprised. “Really? Didn’t think I was being any different.”

Castiel is about to apologize for intruding where he wasn’t needed, but Dean holds up his hand to stop him. “I’m a little off today, maybe,” he admits, “I’m surprised you picked up on it.”

“Believe me, I’m surprised as well,” Castiel mutters.

“Guess we’re just pretty in tune, huh?” Dean winks, laying a hand on Cas’ shoulder and looking at him seriously. “Thanks for caring Cas. Really. I’ll try to come find you tomorrow, alright?”

“Alright,” Cas says quietly. He wishes Dean would tell him what’s wrong, but he should probably be grateful Dean admitted to anything being wrong at all.

Dean looks hesitant for a moment before leaning forward and kissing him quickly on the cheek, offsetting the sweet gesture completely by leering when he leans back. “Catch ya later, Cas.”

Cas has no idea what he’s doing with Dean, or what exactly their relationship is, since it seems to hover the line between intimacy and good friendship. But, as he walks back to the fifth floor and considers it, he thinks he likes it.


	10. December 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know. I suck. And I'm jetlagged.
> 
> Posting will be irregular (which I hope means something like two or three chapters a day) until I get this baby back on track, which I'm desperately hoping to accomplish by Christmas.
> 
> Please feel free to be disappointed in me, for I am disappointed in me.

Castiel has gotten so used to Dean just showing up to find him, he almost doesn’t notice that he hasn’t seen him all day by the time lunch rolls around. He’d heard someone complaining about flashing Christmas lights on a display over in children’s apparel, and now that he has a moment to rest and step away from all the chaos, he wonders why Dean hadn’t stopped by the toy department after he’d fixed them.

Once he figures this out, he can’t concentrate at all. Charlie keeps shooting him strange looks and luckily, he seems to be sending off the same vibe to the shoppers, since he doesn’t get asked any questions for a good hour. Finally Meg notices him. “Go to lunch,” she says. “You like you’re about to chew through the Lego Batman, you’re so fucking antsy.”

“Thank you,” Castiel barely has time to say before he takes off for the escalators. Dean has to be somewhere on the lower level – though he often eats with Charlie, more than once Castiel has seen him talking to one of the cooks.

Castiel only has to look around the food court once before he knows Dean isn’t there. Maybe he’s eating up on the seventh floor today.

Just as he’s turning around to start the long trek back upstairs, he’s stopped by the bearded cook Dean was friendly with. “Hey,” he says, and while he doesn’t necessarily look unfriendly (in fact, his easy, southern drawl doesn’t really allow him to sound so either) Castiel is instantly put on guard. “You’re Dean’s friend, aren’t you?”

“We’re acquainted, yes,” Castiel says. “Who are you?”

“Straight to the point, aren’t ya?” The man, surprisingly, laughs. “Name’s Benny. And you’re Castiel, ain’t ya?”

Castiel nods. “You’re friends with Dean, right?”

“Best of,” Benny shrugs. “Boy’s a good one to have in your corner. You’re lucky you caught his eye.”

Castiel nods slowly. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Maybe because returning the favor might be a nice thing to do,” Benny says. “Food for your thought. Speaking of, you hungry? We got cinnamon rolls today. Nearly had to take your brother’s hands off more than once, damn bastard wouldn’t stop sneaking into the kitchen.”

“No thank you,” Castiel says distractedly. “Do you happen to know where Dean is?”

Benny shakes his head. “Sorry, haven’t seen him today. You try the fifth floor? Sometimes he spends the whole day up there with Bobby.”

“I was just up there,” Castiel says. “I’ll keep looking, thank you.”

“Send him down when you find him, he loves my cinnamon rolls.”

Benny doesn’t hang around to wait for a response, so Castiel figures he’s taken a positive answer for granted and steps onto the escalator, intending to go look for Dean in the Walnut Room. As he’s going from the first floor to the second floor, he spots Sam talking to Jess at her makeup counter, and changing direction, steps off to go back down and meet him there.

“Sam,” he says as he gets closer. “Do you know where Dean is?”

“Hey Cas,” Sam says in response, cocking his head. “You on your lunch?”

“We were just talking about the Christmas party,” Jess adds. “You’re coming, right?”

“Christmas party?” Castiel asks, momentarily distracted. “I don’t know what that is, but most likely not.”

“Oh, why not?” Jess asks, wide eyed and looking so sweet that even Castiel, who was never affected by anything like that, might be moved to say yes if she kept at it. “The whole store is having one after work the Tuesday before Christmas. We’re even doing Secret Santa.”

Sam laughs, tapping her hand that’s rested on the counter gently. “That doesn’t really sound like Cas’ thing, Jess.”

“No,” Castiel agrees. “I’m afraid all my attempts at Secret Santa have ended in disaster.”

“It’s not hard,” Jess cajoles. “Seeing what little things you get and trying to figure out who it is is so much fun! We always did really enjoyed it at my old job.”

“Jess,” Sam says, sending Cas a glance, “that’s really sweet, but seriously, don’t be disappointed if Cas says no.”

“It’s okay, Sam,” Cas says, giving as much of a smile as he can manage. “I’ll think about it, Jess. You do make it sound fun.”

Jess gives him a large smile. “Maybe if you’re lucky you’ll draw Dean’s name!”

“Maybe,” he says, looking at Sam again. Since he hadn’t answered Castiel’s question before, he decides to try again. “Sam…”

“Yeah, I gotcha,” Sam says quickly, turning to Jess. “Hey, I’ve got to talk to Cas about something. Are we still, uh…still good for dinner tonight?”

Jess just smirks at him. “Pick me up at seven.”

“Oh! Oh yeah, sure!” Sam grins and Castiel has to practically pull him away, only feeling a little bad about it.

“Sam, where’s Dean?”

“Look,” Sam sighs. “I have to talk to you about that. You saw Dean more than me yesterday. Did he seem a little weird to you?”

“Perhaps a little, but he said he was fine,” Castiel says, starting to feel alarmed. “Was he not fine? Sam, what’s wrong?”

“No, no, he is fine, technically,” Sam tells him quickly. “He just stayed home today.”

“Why? He loves work.”

“Yeah, I know,” Sam frowns. “It’s just…” he looks uncomfortable, glancing around the crowded area they’re in like he doesn’t want anyone to overhear what they’re saying. “Look, it’s just…I’m kinda sorry you two met now, of all times.”

Castiel bites his lip, looking away. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, he really likes you, don’t get me wrong,” Sam is quick to say. “He talks about you all the time, and I seriously have never seen him so excited for a date. It just kind of sucks that it has to be Christmas time.”

“You said that,” Castiel says, starting to get annoyed. “I fail to see why it’s a problem, Sam.”

“Because. You know. Of how you feel about the whole thing, and then there’s him…it’s just a hard time.”

“You think I’m unable to date your brother at this time because I dislike Christmas?” Castiel asks flatly.

“No, no!” Sam groans and runs a hand over his face. “God, I’m fucking this up. Lemme start over, alright? Has Dean ever told you anything about how we grew up? Our parents? Anything like that?”

“No,” Castiel frowns. “I’ve gathered on my own that you two spent an abnormal amount of time at this store. And yesterday he’d mentioned that you moved in with Bobby when you were still quite young.”

“Yeah, well, that’s it then, isn’t it?” Sam says bitterly. “He didn’t tell you why we went to live with Bobby though, did he?”

Castiel, more curious than he’d like to admit, looks around the store. He and Sam are standing quite close to one of the decorative Christmas trees that flank the front doorway, and though relatively hidden from the rest of the room, and no matter how much he wants to hear this, he also can’t help feeling apprehensive about what Sam is about to say. “Should we go somewhere else for this conversation?”

Sam sighs. “No, it’s fine. We went to live with Bobby because our mom died and our dad kind of disappeared. She died twenty years ago yesterday, actually. She and Dean were really close, the anniversary usually hits him pretty hard.”

Castiel continues to stare out into the store. He doesn’t mind that Dean hadn’t told him. He’d expected something had happened to Dean’s parents when he mentioned going to live with Bobby – he just wasn’t sure what. All he felt was sadness that something that horrible had happened to Dean, and upset now that he couldn’t do anything to help him. “If that was yesterday, why isn’t he here today?”

“Usually he’d have taken yesterday off, but he was really adamant about coming for some reason.” Cas feels a pang of guilt as Sam continues. “But like I said, he was being weird, and it wasn’t much better this morning, so I made him promise to stay home.”

“He’s okay?”

“Yeah. Just taking a break, you know.” Sam shrugs. “Anyway, that’s what I meant about this not being an awesome time.”

Castiel shakes his head. “I’m afraid I still don’t understand, Sam. If Dean is especially sad this time of year, having somebody else he can trust to lean on could only help, not hurt him.”

Sam smiles sadly. “Dean doesn’t lean on people. He’s already figured it out. That’s why I’m worried about you dating now. He’s made it sound like Christmas is kind of bad for you, more than just you not liking it.”

Castiel wonders how Dean has picked up on that. Surely he hadn’t said anything to incriminate himself, and he’d been very subtle when he’d left Millennium after hearing those carolers. He’d been sure to tell Dean nothing about his family, either, except where Gabriel happened to pop into the conversation. “So what?”

Sam chews worriedly on his lip, looking very deep in thought. Finally he begins to speak, and the words are slow, careful. “Christmas was kind of a big deal in our family, you know? I was only four when mom died, but I remember it, get the impression of what was going on. Family and warmth and all of that stuff Christmas was supposed to be, With gingerbread houses and decorating the tree and music and…all that stuff. Anyway, dad kinda checked out on us after she was gone, and damn if Dean didn’t keep giving me the same exact Christmas I’d had every year before, all on his own. Then dad just up and left, and Uncle Bobby took us in, and suddenly Christmas was a huger deal than ever. It has to be, when you’re running a huge store in a huge city and the decorations go up the second Halloween is over. I think Dean just kind of got sucked into that world and never left. He won’t admit it, but I think it’s his happy place.”

Castiel stares at Sam, processing this. He understands Dean has an unnatural love for all things Christmas, a deeper and more pure kind of love than you see from people who claim it’s their favorite time of year. He just hadn’t understood how important it was. “Sam,” he says quietly, “if you think I’m going to burst your brother’s bubble, I’m not.”

Sam looks surprised. “That’s not what I think at all,” he assures him. “I just thought…with Dean so overly happy this time of year and you so bummed, maybe you guys could hold off until the New Year, when things have calmed down a bit.”

There’s logical merit to Sam’s suggestion, when Castiel thinks about it. He and Dean are on opposite sides of the emotional spectrum right now – if they continued to spend time with each other, something must have to break, shouldn’t it? And it probably wouldn’t be pretty when it did. Waiting until they were both more comfortable and calm with the world might help create a stable relationship. If that was what Castiel wanted. Except…

“I don’t want to wait.”

“Really?” Sam asks skeptically. “It’s only a couple of weeks.”

Castiel shakes his head. “Dean and I have a date tomorrow. I want to go.”

“Alright,” he nods. “I get it. I just want you to know, I’m not here trying to get you not to date my brother or anything. You seem really nice, and I think you could be good for him. Just thought you should know everything.”

“I appreciate your concern Sam,” Castiel says, and he does. He gets that Sam is feeling protective of his brother. “However, if we run into problems, I believe Dean and I can solve them, if they should ever appear.”

Sam cracks a smile. “That was the politest, ‘mind your own fucking business’ I’ve ever heard.”

“Thank you,” Castiel smiles in return before pulling out his cell phone. “However, I’m afraid I have to rescind it some. Dean doesn’t have my number, and I’m not sure how he thinks he’s going to get in touch with me tomorrow.”

At this Sam laughs. “Just give it to me and I’ll get it to him.”

After putting his number into Sam’s phone, Castiel heads back upstairs. He’d wasted his lunch hour talking to Sam, so once again he was embarking on the second half of his shift without any substantial food. Somehow he finds it hard to care. He thinks it might have been worth it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is severely unedited (as in even I only looked at it twice). Please fire at mistakes at will.


	11. December 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, this is extremely unedited. You have been warned.

Castiel woke up at nine that morning, unable to sleep. He had no idea when Dean was going to call, or if Sam had remembered to give Dean his number at all. The anxiety of the whole matter had kept him from getting much sleep to begin with, and as soon as he felt like it was late enough, he’d rolled out of bed.

That morning, he managed to drink four cups of coffee, clean his bathroom and scrub the kitchen floor. When noon rolled around and Dean still hadn’t called, he choked down a sandwich for lunch, took out the trash and cleaned the hard drive on his laptop.

It was a pathetic way to spend his time, but Castiel didn’t know what else to do today. If Dean never did call, meaningless tasks and chores were the only things that were going to get him through the day without him thinking too hard about it. They would keep him from getting disappointed.

At two he hears his cell phone ringing from his position underneath his kitchen sink. It had started making weird noises while he was washing his lunch dishes. As bored as he was, he decided to get under the sink and look at the pipes.

Castiel knew nothing about plumbing, and he had no natural talent for it, as he had discovered when his tinkering with the pipers caused them to start leaking.

Rolling out from under the sink and almost hitting his head in the process, he manages to make it to his coat just in time, fishing his phone out of his pocket before it can stop ringing. “Hello?”

“Hey, Cas,” Dean says, sounding slightly sheepish. “So, funny story, got in my car to come pick you up and realized I don’t actually know where you live.”

Castiel feels his heart jump, more because Dean is actually calling than anything else. And then he realizes how pathetic that makes him, so to take his mind off of it he clears his throat to say, “Ah, yes, that, uh, it could be a problem.”

“Thought so,” Dean chuckles. “So, you gonna give me your address or what?”

Castiel quickly relays his address, fumbling over the words a little as he stares down at his ratty jeans and water soaked T-shirt. Dean promises to be there within ten minutes and Castiel quickly sets his phone down to go change. He throws on a thick blue wool sweater and a nicer pair of jeans, pressing down on his hair with his palm before he realizes it’s a lost cause and just runs a hand through it again. He can actually hear the water dripping from his sink pipes now, which means it’s created a big enough puddle that he can hear the water hitting water, but he has no idea what to do about it. He’s just pulling a towel from the linen closet when the buzzer for the door downstairs goes off.

Castiel presses the button to let him in without saying anything over the intercom, pacing restlessly and standing awkwardly in front of the door a few times before realizing how silly that is and beginning to pace again. Finally there’s a knock on the door, and he quickly pulls it open, fast enough so that Dean’s hand is still poised to knock again. Catching sight of him, he smiles widely and drops his hand.

“Hello, Dean.”

“Hey Cas,” Dean says, eyes dropping to the towel still clenched loosely in his fist. “Not interrupting anything, am I?”

“Oh, no,” Castiel says, for some reason moving to hide it behind his back. “My sink is dripping. It’s not a problem.”

“Want me to take a look at it?” Dean offers. “Plumbing’s not really my think, but usually if it’s logical I can fix it.”

“I think it’ll survive,” Castiel frowns, hating the idea of ruining Dean’s plans for their date and making him fix his sink. “We can go.”

“Relax man, the market isn’t going anywhere,” Dean assures him, gently pushing his way past Cas. “The kitchen sink, right?”

“Yes,” Cas replies, trailing after him. “Really Dean, I don’t think my apartment will flood in the time it takes for us to go on a date.”

“You don’t know that,” Dean says, shooting him a grin. “Maybe you won’t be returning ‘til mornin’.”

Castiel does his best not to blush as Dean pulls off his gloves and strips out of his jacket, revealing a deep green shirt over a black t-shirt. He maneuvers himself under the sink and immediately says, “hey, you got a wrench or something Cas? I think your pipes are just loose.”

Castiel purses his lips and reaches to the counter next to the sink for the wrench he’d been using earlier, handing it down to Dean. Dean pokes hi head out as soon as he’s got it in his hand, looking skeptical. “Cas,” he asks, “your pipes leaking got anything to do with you taking a wrench to them?”

“Maybe,” Castiel says shortly. “The sink was making a strange noise.”

Dean laughs and stands up. “How about this,” he offers. “We go on our date, and then I’ll come back here and try to figure out what’s wrong with your sink.”

“I’m not sure if you really intend to help me or if you’re just guaranteeing yourself a free pass back into my apartment,” Cas says, tilting his head.

“Maybe it’s a little bit of both.” Dean slips his jacket back on and gestures at Cas. “C’mon, I already wasted enough time today trying to get your number out of Sam. He made me call him ‘the best brother ever’ for it. Thought my ears were gonna start bleeding from the sound of those words.”

Dean brings him outside and downstairs, where his large black car is parked and waiting on the curb. He explains as he opens the door for Castiel that he usually keeps her stored away from the winter because of all the salt on the roads, but, “she comes out for special occasions, and I thought you two should meet.” Castiel is very careful in the car after that, trying hard not to move too much or mess anything up.

Dean climbs into the driver’s seat and starts the car up, almost immediately noticing Castiel’s stiffness. Without a word he places a hand on Castiel’s knee and just rests it there, a steady warm presence that has Castiel relaxing back into the seat before he realizes it.

Christkindlmarket isn’t actually too far from the store, and even in typical Chicago traffic Dean is able to make it there relatively quickly, parking the Impala in a nearby parking garage before heading out onto the streets with Cas by his side. He’s never actually been to the market before, for obvious reasons, and he’s surprised to see that it is actually market, in a very European sense. He knows from passing by it in the summer that the area they’re in is usually quite big and open, but today it’s crammed with rows and rows of tiny little wooden huts, and what seems like thousands upon thousands of people.

“Is it usually this crowded?”

“Oh yeah, all the time,” Dean nods. “And it’s a Thursday afternoon. Sammy and I used to come on weekends because those were the only days Bobby could get off, and it was even worse then. We were lucky we were tall kids.”

Dean brings Castiel to one of the stands nearest the entrance they’d come in, which was selling food, and proceeds to buy him a hot chocolate. When Castiel tries to hand him money, Dean only raises an eyebrow and says, “seriously?” before turning to buy one for himself. The hot chocolate is rich and warm, and somehow it tastes even better with the smell of cooking sausages that seems to surround the stand.

“It’s a German market,” Dean explains when he finally manages to get away from the crowd of people surrounding the stall. “So there are lots of craftsman. Wanna have a look around?”

There are more variations of stands than Castiel could have ever imagined. There were stalls with beer steins that cost about half of what he made in a week, hand carved nutcrackers and cuckoo clocks with so much detail he had a hard time believing they were made by human hands. Then there were more conventional stalls, with knitted hats and children’s toys and small delicate jewelry. It was hard to take in everything at once, especially since Castiel found himself watching Dean more than anything else. He’s like an excited child bringing Castiel from stall to stall, a happy look on his face as he’s sure to point out everything he finds interesting.

The stalls the market seemed to favor the most were the ones that sold food, whether it be substantial meals or small little treats. These also seemed to be Dean’s favorite, as he took out his wallet at almost every one to try the different chocolates or cinnamon covered nuts.

At a stall selling chocolate products he makes a truly obscene sound after biting into his treat. “Cas,” he groans, “you gotta try this.”

Castiel holds out his hand, expecting Dean to hand him a piece, but instead he offers the entire chocolate covered wafer to him. He holds it at face level, a gesture Castiel takes to mean he wants him to take a bite.

There’s barely any cookie left, and as Castiel’s lips close around it he ends up catching some of Dean’s fingers too. Dean’s eyes are on him the entire time, so steady that Castiel finds he can’t look away either, and when his lips touch Dean he sees his eyes darken.

“Good?” Dean asks, pulling his hand back and smiling at him.

Castiel had barely registered the taste of the cookie, but he nods dutifully. “Good,” he says hoarsely.

After wandering around the market they find themselves in front of a stall full of wooden goods. The man who runs it is towards the back, actually carving something as people peer over his counter to watch. Dean, a little taller than everyone else there, laughs when he sees what it is.

“What?” Castiel asks curiously, craning his neck as well.

“Sir,” Dean calls, not answering. The man stops carving to look up, and Dean waves at him. “Think I could buy that when you’re finished?”

The man grunts in response, and Dean turns to Castiel with a grin.

“I might be able to share in your elation if you told me what it is.”

“Smart ass,” Dean tells him, pushed closer as the amount of people around the stall grows. “It’s an angel. Like you.”

“Like me?” Castiel asks.

“Yeah, like you. Castiel. Angel of Thursday, right?” Dean says. “Your name’s kinda weird, so I looked it up. Also learned that the suffix ‘tiel’ means of god, so when I call you Cas I’m butchering the meaning a bit.”

Castiel frowns and looks at the ground. “I never much liked that part anyway.”

“Hey. Cas,” Dean says quietly, and Castiel feels Dean’s fingers fit under his chin before he gently lifts his head. He stares at Dean, who has his lips pursed and clear uncertainty in his eyes. His hand doesn’t drop from Castiel’s face, and either Castiel is leaning forward or Dean is tugging him even closer when they hear a voice next to them say, “Entshuldigung? Sie ist done.”

Dean pulls back and Castiel superstitiously runs his gloved hand over his mouth, trying not to feel too disappointed. He’s sure Dean was going to kiss him.

When Dean has finished paying for the angel, he promptly hands it to Castiel. It’s beautifully crafted, with golden hair and a serene expression. The bottom is carved strangely, having a hole in the bottom of the robe for some reason.

“You can put it on top of your Christmas tree,” Dean says.

“I don’t have a Christmas tree,” Castiel says, still looking down at the angel. “I never have.”

Dean’s arm slips around his shoulders and Cas, who usually has a problem being close to people (despite Gabriel accusing him of having personal space issues whenever he stands near him) doesn’t mind when Dean pulls him closer. “Come on,” he tells him. “Let’s go fix your sink.”


	12. December 12

Castiel is trying his best to check this person out as quickly as possible, but it’s hard to do with Dean singing Wham loudly and off-key behind him.

“LAST CHRISTMAS, I GAVE YOU MY HEART, BUT THE VERY NEXT DAY, YOU GAVE IT AWAY.”

The young woman Castiel is taking care of is giggling, a wide smile on her face as she watches Dean and pays absolutely no attention to what Castiel is doing (checking out the twenty or so stuffed animals she’s brought up to the counter and trying to stuff them all into a minimal amount of bags)

“This year, to save me from tears, I’ll give it to someone special.”

Dean is much closer to Castiel now, practically crooning in his ear, and Castiel thinks the girl’s face might split from how hard she’s smiling. “Dean, cut it out,” he says, trying to elbow him away.

Dean manages to dodge and just grins cheekily at Cas, continuing to hum as he finishes up with the girl’s transaction. She loiters a bit as he begins to take care of the next person, watching Dean sing, before finally heading on her way with a strange kind of wistful expression on her face.

“Is it always that easy for you?” Castiel asks after he finished ringing up the next customer’s LEGO.

Dean seems to need no clarification, since he just shrugs and says, “Nah. I’m still working on you, aren’t I?”

For the next half hour, nothing in the store must need fixing, since Dean deems it necessary to continue standing behind the counter by Cas much closer than is appropriate and singing love themed Christmas songs. Castiel manages to escape when Gabriel shows up to visit and immediately joins in with him, claiming it’s time for his break and only getting away with the promise that he would return as soon as he’d clocked out for his mandated thirty minutes.

His phone rings as he’s sliding his card through the punch out machine and he answers without thinking, a stupid move considering the only two people who would call him and who he’d want to talk to are currently still in the toy department singing ‘Baby It’s Cold Outside.’

“Hello?”

“Hello Castiel.”

He almost hangs up the phone. Almost. The thought of what mother might say if he hung up on his brother, or worse, what Luke might do if he heard about it was enough to keep the phone pressed firmly to his ear.

“What do you want, Michael?”

“Relax, Castiel.” Michael always had a way of sounding tightly controlled and relaxed at the same time, much like Castiel imagined a king who had the complete loyalty of his subjects must sound. It was very different from Luke’s type of relaxed drawl, which always exuded the confidence of someone who could extinguish an annoyance with the snap of his fingers. Castiel had learned not to seem afraid of either of his older brother’s special brands of dominance long ago, but hearing their voices never failed to put him on edge.

Really, he’d rather he never had to speak to Michael or Luke, and usually they seemed to feel the same way. He has no idea why Michael might be contacting him now.

“Mother called,” Michael says simply, and Castiel instantly knows what the problem is. Ever since their father had died several years ago, Michael had taken over the head role in the family. He had always been Naomi’s favorite, and now he was the one she went to whenever she felt things weren’t going exactly the way she wanted them. “She informs me you’ve turned down my very generous offer.”

“What, the very generous offer of an interview for a job I’m sure involves sorting mail or getting coffee?” Castiel asks. “Yes, thank you Michael, but I’ll pass. Even if I wanted to accept your offer, I have my own job.”

“Yes, that’s what mother told me,” Michael says disdainfully. “She assumes you’re standing on a street corner somewhere, shining shoes. Or worse.”

“Yes, well, it’s great that she has so much confidence in her youngest, isn’t it?” Castiel says bitterly.

“I however, know you’ve gotten yourself a retail job at Macy’s, of all places,” Michael continues as if Castiel hasn’t said anything. At his words, Castiel feels his blood run cold, and he finds himself looking around, though he knows no one else is in the break room with him.”

“You didn’t really think I wouldn’t keep tabs on you, did you Castiel?”

“Are you having me followed?”

“If you haven’t noticed, then it can’t be bothering you, can it Castiel?”

“Michael,” Castiel hisses, “Stop it.”

This is terrible. If Michael knows where he is, then it stands to reason he might know Gabriel is here too. Gabriel hasn’t spoken to Michael or Luke in years, and Castiel knows when he moved back here he deliberately hadn’t told Naomi. Gabriel wanted nothing to do with the family, and while the family felt the same way, the tended to subscribe more to the belief meant that controlling lives while not talking to people still meant they had nothing to do with them.

“It’s for your own protection, Castiel,” Michael says, a steely edge to his tone. “After all, you never would have told me you were…cavorting about with a common blue collared slob who calls you ‘Cas,’ would you?”

Castiel hates the sound of the name Dean calls him on Michael’s tongue, hates that Michael knows this thing about him, this one thing that makes him happy. Perhaps that’s why he laughs hysterically and says, “Cavorting? I think you mean ‘dating,’ Michael. Or one step from fucking, if you’d like me to be common for you.”

“Watch your tone with me,” Michaels says coolly. “If mother knows this, you know she would drag you straight back home.”

“Are you threatening me with mother, Michael?” Castiel laughs again. “That stopped scaring me the second I was able to move as far away from you as possible.”

“Yet you managed to gravitate back to Chicago. You’re a Novak, Castiel. You belong here, in the upper tiers of this city, even if you are going through this little phase of dating men and working for middle class retail stores.”

Finally Castiel has had enough. “Stop following me Michael,” he says angrily. “Stop trying to control my goddamned life. Dating men is not a phase, I’m _gay_ , you fucking close minded asshole. Don’t call me again.”

He hears Michael saying something, probably something derogatory, but he doesn’t care. He hangs up as violently as he can on a touch screen, tossing the phone into the trash. He’s not using it anymore, can’t take Michael of Naomi or good forbid, Luke, calling him. His break has five minutes left, but he doesn’t care about that either as he stuffs his hat on his head and angrily storms out of the break room. He passes by the toy department. Gabriel and Dean have now got all the customers in there singing, ‘All I Want for Christmas,’ but if either of them see him and say something, he doesn’t notice.

The cold air hits him abruptly, but does nothing to cool his anger. It’s started to snow while he was inside, and while usually this would make him turn right back around, he continues. He feels like he’s burning up with anger and that something is going to blow, soon. He’s been walking, he doesn’t know where, somehow managing to avoid stumbling over people as he stomps along.

How dare Michael interfere in his life like that? No matter how hard he tried to get away from his family, they wouldn’t leave him alone, and all the memories, all the years of Christmases that weren’t, wouldn’t go away until they did --

“Cas! Hey, Cas, hold up! Where are you going?”

Castiel doesn’t stop, but he slows, and Dean catches up to him quickly. “What’s up, man? I know Gabriel’s singing is pretty horrible, but I thought I was doing alright.”

Castiel can’t take Dean’s infectious mood right now, he just can’t. So he doesn’t say anything. Dean seems to take this as a sign to continue.

“So anyway, I was thinking about what you said yesterday, about not ever having a tree? And it got me thinking, hey, that kinda sucks, you know, not to have anywhere to put your angel, so maybe we could—“

“Dean,” Castiel interrupts abruptly. “I appreciate your ‘help,’ but I don’t need it.”

Dean looks surprised, and his steps falter as he holds up his hands in a sort of surrender. “Alright Cas, that’s fine. Sorry, just thought maybe you might wanna spend some more time together, or something.”

Castiel is not used to Dean being unsure of himself, and it is this, and this alone, that has him considering apologizing, before his considerations are interrupted.

“CASSIE!”

Gabriel is barreling down the sidewalk, surprisingly adept at making the crowd get out of his way for how short he is. When he reaches them, he is out of breath, but looks as angry as Castiel has ever seen him. “What the hell is going on?”

“I was about to get to that,” Dean says, his lips pursed. “I just asked if he wanted to get a Christmas tree and he kinda blew up on me.”

“You,” Gabriel says fiercely, immediately turning on him. “Cas was fine until you started all this cheery, ‘tis the season bull crap. Why can’t you leave him alone Winchester, huh? The kid doesn’t like Christmas, he doesn’t want you to stick mistletoe up his ass or whatever the hell it is you’re aiming for!”

Dean looks indignant, for good reason, and Castiel cuts in before he can say anything. “I’m not upset with Dean, Gabriel.”

“Oh,” Gabriel says easily, backing away from Dean like he hadn’t just had his face two inches from Dean’s chest. “Then what upset you?”

“Michael called,” he says quietly.

Gabriel’s mouth tightens. “Did he threaten you?”

“Not directly,” Castiel replies. “But he knows where I am. I do not believe he knows about you. I don’t think he could have resisted gloating about finding you.”

Gabriel says a swear word Castiel has never actually heard said before.

“Wait, am I missing something here?” Dean says. “Who the hell is Michael and why is it bad that he knows where you are?”

“I suppose it’s not bad that he knows where I am,” Castiel says, “It’s not exactly a secret. It’s just not ideal that he’s paying attention to me.”

“Michael is our esteemed older brother,” Gabriel explains shortly to Dean. “Lawyer. Likes to control things, even things that aren’t his. As you can imagine, he’s not too happy with me for flying the coop or for little Cassie deciding he likes the taste of bananas more than peaches.”

“Thank you for the eloquent description of my sexuality, Gabriel.”

“No problem bro,” Gabriel grins. “Anyway, guess one of us should get back to the job they’re being paid to do.”

“I hadn’t realized you and Dean were being paid to swear everyone in Chicago off of Christmas songs.”

Gabriel waves a little in his direction. “I wouldn’t worry about Michael for now, Cas. He’s just antsy because it’s the holiday season and he can’t understand why so many people are happy in his presence. You start seeing shifty looking guys in sunglasses though, let me know, because then we’ve got Luke to worry about.”

Gabriel ambles off back down the road towards the store, and Castiel finds himself alone with Dean, who is shifting awkwardly.

“Sorry,” he says suddenly. “You know, about the whole tree thing. I know how you feel about Christmas. I dunno why I asked.”

“I’m not upset with you,” Castiel says quietly. “I’m sorry I snapped. I…” he pauses. “I would enjoy picking a tree out with you, I think.”

“Yeah?” Dean doesn’t smile, but his face lights up, and suddenly his face is inches from Castiel’s. “I’m not forcing you into the Christmas spirit or anything, am I Cas?”

Snow is gathering on his eyelashes, making them glitter and emphasizing how long they are.

“No,” Castiel says dumbly, memorized by how green Dean’s eyes look. “No, you couldn’t if you tried.”

Dean’s mouth is on his then, soft at first, too soft for Castiel’s liking before Dean presses forward, one hand cupping the back of Castiel’s head and the other hand is clenched in the front of his jacket, pulling him closer. Castiel hadn’t noticed the snow when he was angry, but he comes increasingly aware of it as it falls around them. Dean is nibbling softly at his lip now, cautiously urging his mouth open, and Castiel has no idea what he’s done to deserve this but he swears he’ll do it again, as often as he can. Dean’s finger is stroking along the back of his neck now, running under his hat and into his hair, and he kisses him one more time before pulling back. He doesn’t let go.

Castiel stares dumbly at him.

“I’ve been waiting to do that forever,” Dean smiles slightly. “You all right to go back inside?”

Castiel nods, and Dean lets go only to take his hand to lead him back into the store. The Salvation Army Santa parked outside yells a holiday greeting at them. As Dean fishes some money out of his pocket to hand to him, all Castiel can do is look up at the snow still falling from the darkening sky.

Merry Christmas indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Said I'd make it by the weekend, didn't I? Well. The long weekend. Two weeks later.  
> Sorry guys. I dunno what it is about school, but somehow it gets me to write. Since classes start again tomorrow, expect me to get right back on this horse. Sorry my writer's block was so bad.
> 
> Also, if you think the kiss was inspired by [this](http://midget-banana.tumblr.com/post/102779907020/this-is-a-frame-from-a-gif-wip-but-i-liked-how-it) graphic, you are absolutely right.


	13. December 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, this is unedited. But yay for doing better at time!

Castiel is fairly certain Dean is driving them to Canada. Or at least to Wisconsin, which is considerably worse. When Dean convinced Castiel to get a tree with him, he hadn’t realized it would include so much driving.

“Where are we going?” he asks.

Dean just shrugs, eyes still on the road. “You’ll see.”

When he’d showed up at Castiel’s doorstep early that morning, Castiel was surprised to see a large pick up instead of the Impala waiting for him. “I borrowed it from Benny,” Dean had explained. “Don’t wanna scratch my baby up with all the needles.”

“We could just not get a tree,” Castiel had suggested.

Dean laughed, like Castiel had made a joke, and before he knew it he’d been in the truck for over an hour, the amount of snow on the ground growing as they left the city behind. Dean hadn’t spoken the entire time, and though it’s not exactly an uncomfortable silence, Castiel can’t help wondering why Dean, who is normally talkative, has suddenly decided he doesn’t feel like it.

“If I were a paranoid person I’d think you were taking me out into the woods to kill me.”

“Hey, don’t knock it ‘til you try it, Cas. Great foreplay.” The teasing note in Dean’s voice is there, but he seems distracted, eyes kept fixed firmly on the road even though Castiel has experienced him driving around the Loop without once looking out the front window.

Castiel may not be paranoid, but he is unsure how to do relationships. The last long term one he had was with a woman named Hannah, and it had ended after five months when she moved to California to ‘find herself.’ Castiel’s not totally sure what he did wrong (other than not being especially attracted to her, but that’s another story; it was however, the last time he ever tried to please his family by ‘not being gay’) but he had realized afterwards that romantic endeavors were not one of his strong points.

Perhaps Dean had realized this. Maybe at this very moment he was regretting kissing Castiel the way he did. Castiel can’t regret it, even if Dean does, but for the first time in his life, he finds himself caring.

He wants Dean to have liked the kiss. He wants him to do It again. He doesn’t want Dean to think it was a mistake.

Perhaps if he put Dean in a batter mood, he’d forget whatever it was he was thinking of and want to kiss him again.

“Can we put on some Christmas carols?” Castiel asks, breaking the silence.

Finally, Dean looks at him. Just a small glance out of the corner of his eye, but it’s enough. “What?”

“Christmas carols,” he repeats. “Like ‘Jingle Bells’.”

“Yeah, I got that part,” Dean says, frowning slightly. “You hate Christmas music.”

Castiel shrugs. “You don’t.”

Dean shoots him a funny look but leans over slightly, fiddling with the dash until ‘Carols of the Bells’ begins to emit softly through the speakers.

“You haven’t been taking to Sam or anything, have you?”

Castiel purses his lips, unsure why Dean is asking other than that he might have told Sam something he doesn’t want Castiel to know. The thought is not comforting. “Not lately. Why?”

“Nothing,” Dean’s still frowning. “He was being kind of an ass earlier.”

“Why?”

Dean chuckles slightly. “Dude, I don’t pretend to understand why Sammy’s got his panties in a twist at any given time. Think he might be upset about you though.”

Castiel leans his head against the window and doesn’t look at Dean. He’d thought Sam had liked him. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Oh hey, come on, not like that,” Dean says, and Castiel might have imagined the hand he feels brush against his arm, it happens so quickly. “It’s mean he’s being all huffy with. Says I’m taking advantage of you, or some shit.”

“How?” This is probably the most ridiculous thing he’s heard all day.

Dean shifts uncomfortably. “Dunno,” he finally mutters. “He just got pissy when he heard I was taking you to get a tree.”

Castiel has no idea what that’s about, nor can he pretend to know. He’s just glad Dean’s apparent sullenness is from a disagreement he had with his brother, and not something Castiel had done. “I’m glad.”

Dean laughs. “Happy we’re having a fight, huh? You’re weird, Cas.”

“No, I thought you regretted kissing me,” Castiel replies before he can stop himself.

Why can he never keep his mouth shut? He only ever ends up sounding like an awkward outsider with no filter.

And this time he gets the added bonus of sounding insecure. He hopes Gabriel never gets wind of this. He’ll never hear the end of it.

He’d have been punished for something like this when he was younger, still remembers being sent to his room without dinner for speaking out of turn, remembers hours of kneeling on the floor in his hometown chapel, praying for forgiveness. ‘Children should be seen, not heard,’ was usually easy for Castiel under normal circumstance, but he couldn’t seem to help occasionally blurting out whatever was on his mind, and as a consequence he also remembers may Christmases spent in silence, with everyone in the family refusing to acknowledge him, until he learned that asking questions about the holiday just wasn’t worth it.

Dean hasn’t said anything, which is only adding to the increasing anxiety Castiel feels building in his chest. He knows Dean is nothing like his family, but he can’t help feeling that perhaps now Dean just won’t speak to him again. The air he’s taking in feels useless and soon he’s breathy, almost to the point of hyperventilating. There’s a loud buzzing noise in his brain and it feels as if his heart will burst out of his chest from how hard it’s beating. He doesn’t notice Dean had pulled over to the side of the road until suddenly the door on his side of the car is opening and he’s there, fumbling with Castiel’s seatbelt.

“Cas,” he’s saying over and over, and it sounds like he’s speaking underwater.

Dean’s got him sideways on the seat now, legs dangling out of the truck. The wind is biting and cold, but Dean’s hands are warm pressed against his cheeks. All he does is stand there, one thumb gently brushing back and forth, until Castiel begins to calm down. He can hear the rush of cars on the highway behind them, and he avoids Dean’s eyes.

Not only did he embarrass himself once, he had to top it off by doing it again immediately after the first time.

“Sorry,” he mumbles.

“Hey, no,” Dean says immediately, voice almost gruff with how quickly he answers. “Don’t apologize.”

Castiel continues to look at his lap, gloved hands clenching his pants and bunching them horribly . Dean’s palms lay lightly rested on his cheeks, and he must be tiring of the position but he still doesn’t move. “Come on, Cas. Look at me.”

Castiel stalls as long as he can before his eyes are drawn, like a magnet, to Dean’s. He smiles slightly when he sees Cas looking at him. “All right?” he asks.

“Sorry,” Castiel repeats. “I don’t know what that was.”

“S’okay, everybody’s gotta freak out once in a while, right?” Dean says, eyes gone serious. “But if it was about the kiss thing, you don’t have to worry, you got that Cas? Kissing you was the best decision I made all week, hell, I could make an argument for all year. I woulda jumped you when I came to pick you up this morning, but I don’t need you knowing how easy I am on top of it all.”

Castiel bites his lip and continues to stare down at his pants. He wonders if they’ll need to be ironed now.

“You good there, Cas?”

He can feel Dean’s eyes on him, and after a few minutes of unbearable silence he looks up. He knows Dean’s gaze hasn’t wavered, that he seems to be searching for something, Castiel has no idea what, but as Dean continues to stare and Castiel stares back, he seems to find it, because all of a sudden his lips are on Castiel’s, and Castiel is responded feverishly, almost without realizing what he’s doing, only that this feels good, and right, and fuck if Dean regretted it before, or regrets it after this, they’re doing it _now_ …

A horn honks loud and long as a truck passes by, for a legitimate reason or because the driver was appreciating the roadside show, Castiel doesn’t know. He’s embarrassed, but Dean is obviously not, since he smiles widely before heading around the hood of the truck to climb back into the driver’s seat.

Castiel swings himself back inside and closes the door behind him. He’s not totally sure what just happened, but he thinks it’s good.

Their final destination turns out to be a forest – a real honest to God forest, and at first Castiel thinks Dean is taking this traditionalism thing just a little too far – but there ends up being a Christmas tree farm right near the edge, which he supposes is a logical place for it.

“Cool, huh?” Dean asks.

“Yes,” Castiel agrees. “I thought you were going to make me follow you into the forest with an axe.”

“C’mon man. Do I look like a lumberjack to you?”

Castiel privately think he does, not just because of all the flannel, but because Dean is sporting scruff that puts Italian models everywhere to shame and frankly, he’d be perfectly happy to go back to the truck and start necking.

Dean had wandered away while Castiel was having his moment, and soon he realizes that he’s studying trees, and that it actually matters what the tree looks like. Soon Dean has it down to three choices, and he stares at Cas expectantly. “Which one do you like?”

Castuel shrugs. He sees no differences. “It doesn’t matter.”

Dean looks incredulous. “Of course it matters. Which one do you like?”

“They all seem like perfectly good trees Dean.”

Dean makes a huffing noise Castiel knows he’d reject making if he mentioned how adorable it was. He seems extremely put off by the fact that he won’t pick a tree, which Cas can’t understand. He’s here, isn’t he? He agreed to get one. That has to count for something.

But Dean still looks upset. “Well, yeah, they all are, but arguing over which one to get is part of the process, Cas.”

Castiel looks at the trees. Life has taught him to be a diplomat out of necessity. He’s not really sure what Dean wants from him. “That one?” he says, pointing.

Dean pouts at him slightly before turning on his heel and marching back to the three trees he’s set up in stands right next to each other. None of the trunks fit perfectly into the metal piping sticking out of the ground, but Dean stands next to the first tree on the far left and straightens it. It’s shorter than the others, maybe only two feet or so taller than Dean himself, and Castiel can see the needles are short.

“See, this lovely lady is a Balsam fir. See the nice cone shape she’s got going on? Her hobbies include not making a mess with shedding needles and staying green until the end of January.”

Dean raises and eyebrow at him and Castiel suppresses a smile as he moves onto the next tree. “This is Miss Douglas. How you doing miss? Sweet smelling, pretty color, and the softest body you’ll ever feel. Every American man’s dream.”

Castiel laughs openly now, which seems to encourage Dean as he points to the last tree in the line up. “This White pine is a simple girl. Petite and natural, she’ll get the job done, but don’t expect her to do any heavy living. She’s mostly there to look pretty.”

“A show tree.”

“Yeah, exactly,” Dean grins. “So, which one?”

Castiel still doesn’t know a thing about Christmas trees, or which attributes Dean named, if any, are the best. But he nods at the Balsam. “I like that one.”

“Congrats, Miss Christmas Tree 2014,” Dean says, waving over towards the man who owns the farm and has been sitting in a chair beside his trailer the entire time. “See, not too painful, right Cas?”

“No,” Cas agrees, watching as the man gets the tree down. Dean goes to help, and soon they’ve got the branches ties up and the tree loaded and secured in the back of the truck. Castiel waits by the two trees he rejected, managing almost to feel slightly bad about not choosing them before the tree farmer interrupts his thoughts. “Your friend’s in the bathroom. Here’s his receipt.”

Cas glances at it. He supposes he should have known trees cost money, though he’s never thought about it before. His eyes widen at the price he sees, and he has his wallet out by the time Dean comes back.

“Dean,” he starts.

Dean instantly notices the wallet and shakes his head. “No way man. I bought the tree.”

The tree. The tree was so damn expensive, surely he didn’t deserve…”But Dean—“

Dean shakes his head firmly. “Merry Christmas, Cas.”

%MCEPASTEBIN%

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've never experienced an attack, panic or anxiety or otherwise, and while what Cas is experiencing in this chapter isn't exactly that, he is having a magnified freak out. I did a bit of research to look at what that feels like, but if there's anything glaringly incorrect please let me know and I'll fix it as best I can.


	14. December 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright guys, please take out your wands, remove your "Lauren Stinks" buttons, and tap them with the tip of your wand. They should now read, "Lauren Only Kinda Stinks Because She Actually Released A Chapter After Ten Years".
> 
> Yaaaay!
> 
> I just signed up for the DCBB, so I want this done, I really do. It's happening! Thanks for bearing with my shenanigans. 
> 
> P.S This is unedited (do your job Rachel)  
> P.P.S (Rachel here, just edited. Don't fire me please I have a family)

“You sound happier,” Charlie commented, seeming just as happy herself as she rang up a LEGO set next to him. “Finally getting into the Christmas spirit?”

Castiel rolled his eyes and tried in vain to find the price tag on the teddy bear he’s holding. “No. Perhaps I just like it here better now that I’ve settled in. Give yourself some credit, Charlie.”

“Oh, I always do,” she grinned. “But I think I have to give Dean some in this case too.”

“What does enjoying your company have to do with Dean?”

“Oh please,” Charlie laughed, handing her customer their bag with a chirpy Merry Christmas. “I know I’m responsible for like, ninety nine percent of the fact that your face is a little less stoic than usual, but if you try to deny the other one percent is Dean, I’m gonna go serious Queen of Moondoor on you.”

Castiel scrunched his brow. “What is a Queen of Moondoor?”

“She’s my badass warrior queen alter ego. Don’t try to change the subject.”

“I’m not sure what you want me to say,” Castiel replied, handing over his customer’s bag with a nod. “I enjoy Dean’s company. He’s my friend.”

“Are you dating?” she asked, completely ignoring the long line in front of them to turn and look at Castiel expectantly.

“We have been on dates,” Cas hedged.

“So, basically married then.”

Cas thinks she’s joking. Maybe. He’s been getting a little better at realizing Charlie’s special brand of humor. Dean’s as well, come to think of it.

“I’m just saying, I’d totally get on any ship you two are sailing,” Charlie tells him, finally gesturing the next customer forward. An irate looking man with an even more irate baby strapped to his chest slams his Captain America action figure onto the counter. Charlie rewards him with a dazzlingly sarcastic smile.

“Ship?” asks Cas blankly. “Why?”

“You’re dreamy, he’s dreamy…” she sighs. “You do the math. Plus, you’re all dark stormy night and Dean can be annoyingly bright. It’s like the perfect Andy and April combination.”

“I don’t know who those people are.”

By now though, Charlie has become accustomed to his inability to recognize any reference she makes and simply glosses over it. Castiel is glad – he uses to be chastised, though he’s not so stupid to think one day Charlie won’t ambush him with an armful of DVDs and comic books. “Plus, Dean _likes_ you,” she says, like this is a Big Deal.

“Dean likes most people,” Castiel scoffs.

Charlie aggressively tears off a piece of tape and efficiently applies it to the strangely shaped package she’s wrapping. Castiel will never understand why toy companies do this to them. Just make everything box shaped. “Are you kidding me? Dean was Mr. Grumpy. Still is actually. He only seems so happy because it’s Christmas, and because he’s good at pretending.”

Castiel tries and fails to imagine a grumpy Dean. Charlie smiles at him like she knows exactly what he’s thinking. “Yeah, wonder why, huh? It’s like you make him happy or something.”

He grunts and snips through a piece of ribbon. “What is Dean good at pretending at?”

Charlie rolls her eyes at his conversation evasion but shrugs and answers anyway, “Eventually it’s just easier to act how people want you to act then it is to constantly let them down.”

Cas opens his mouth and closes it again. He simply cannot imagine a bitter Dean, one who’s not cracking jokes all the time and attempting to make everyone around him smile. He always looks so pleased with himself. Is all of that an act?

“Speaking of, here comes the man of the hour himself,” Charlie says, thrusting the professionally wrapped Captain America toy to her customer and holding her hand out for his credit card.

“Hey,” Castiel feels an arm wrap around his waist just before he’s greeted with a kiss on the cheek, much to the delight of the woman now waiting for him to hand back the Barbie Doll she’d bought.

“Aw,” she coos.

“I know, he’s adorable, right?”

“Hey,” Meg barks, coming up behind them. “Are you two actually working, or are you just wasting my time and my money?”

“I didn't know you bought Macy’s, Meg. Congrats,” Dean says. “Cas’ shift is over for the day anyway. Doctor’s orders.”

“You mean your surrogate daddy gave you permission to take your boyfriend out of work early?” Meg raises an eyebrow. “And they say nepotism is dead.”

“Bobby said I could leave early too,” Charlie pipes up before Dean could give Meg his response. Castiel felt his arm tighten while Meg was speaking, and when he glances at his face it’s dark.

But his voice is light when he speaks to Charlie. “Bullshit, no he didn't.”

“All of you just get the hell out of my department before I get really angry,” Meg demands, glaring at them.

“Come on, Cas,” Dean mutters, “I don’t feel like dealing with Medusa today.”

“Thank god,” Charlie says. “People were beginning to drive me nuts.”

“Yeah, you’re welcome,” Dean tells her. “You owe me.”

“Maybe,” Charlie grins. “What are you guys doing?”

Some sort of silent conversation must take place over Castiel’s head, because Charlie immediately answers her own question, “Anyway, I gotta get home. Got episodes of _Agent Carter_ to catch up on.”

“That doesn’t come out until next month,” Dean says.

Charlie taps her nose. “Not officially,” she answers, sauntering off with a wave.

Castiel finally pulls himself away from Dean and turns to look at him. “What are we doing?” he frowns. “I have two hours left in my shift.”

“Which I got you out of, because I’m awesome,” Dean quirks a grin. “C’mon, you think I was just gonna let you keep that tree sitting in your living room until New Year’s?”

“I was under the impression that was the point of a Christmas tree.”

Dean shakes his head in exasperation. “Yeah man, but admit it. You would have kept it bare.”

Castiel thinks about the angel Dean had bought for him, set on top of the tree as soon as Dean had left from bringing it inside for Cas last night, and says nothing.

“Thought so,” he smiled at him. “So, we’re gonna buy a shitload of ornaments, then we’re going to haul them back to your place and decorate the hell out of the tree, alright?”

Castiel bites his lip. “Do I get to choose the ornaments?”

“Only if you beat me to them,” Dean challenges, taking off to the other side of the floor before Castiel can react.

Castiel ends up winning. Amidst Dean’s grumbles of how unfair this is (Castiel points out that Dean had a head start, to which he has no response, but it does cause him to stop grumbling in order to pout for a few minutes) they end up choosing much more than just a shitload of ornaments. Castiel picks out multiple colored bulbs, some ornate looking colored glass, and when Dean complains he’s being boring, he throws in an entire box of blue ornaments just to spite him. In retaliation, Dean somehow manages to find a collection of Disney princess ornaments, along with some snowflakes, some beautiful glass icicles and a series of bulbs with winter scenes painted on to their sides. He also manages to grab some silver garland and a box of candycanes, even though Cas protests that it will overcrowd the tree.

“What, are you all into aesthetic crap now or something?” Dean laughs. “It’s a tree man. You put whatever you want on it and fuck the world or how it looks.”

Castiel thinks this is an interesting reflection of Dean’s character. “Is that a philosophy you follow?”

Dean snorts. “Only with trees,” he replies, grabbing the ornaments Cas is holding and heading towards the escalator.

Castiel is beginning to see what Charlie meant about Dean and acting. There are cracks he is beginning to see where Dean’s lack of self-worth shines through, and it saddens him to think that Dean doesn’t value himself as much as a Christmas tree. As much as Castiel is beginning to value him. In an attempt to shield himself (for reasons Castiel still doesn’t fully understand) Dean is somehow just allowing Castiel to see him clearer.

It’s dark when they make it back to Castiel’s apartment, Dean having made them stop at a small hardware store so they could buy lights as well. Castiel flips on the lights and dumps his bags onto the couch, pulling off his coat and hanging it in the front closet. “Would you like some hot chocolate?” he asks, “I understand it is typical to have some sort of seasonal drink while you decorate a tree.”

Dean doesn’t answer right away, and when Castiel turns around from hanging his coat he sees why. Dean’s attention is caught by the tree in the corner, with his lone wooden carved angel on top.

Dean turns slowly and grins at him. “Is that the angel I gave you?”

“Do you think I’ve been receiving hand carved angel tree toppers from anyone else?” Castiel asks, cursing himself from putting the damn thing on. But the tree had looked so bare last night, and that was what the angel was for godammit. He can’t believe Dean noticed it so quickly.

His thoughts have distracted him, and when he snaps back to attention he finds that Dean has moved closer to him. Much closer, Castiel finds, as he feels Dean’s breath blow softly against his lips.

“Did you put that up because you were thinking of me, Cas?” he asks, voice low and rough. Castiel’s breath hitches and he tries hard not to stare too long at Dean’s lips, but it’s impossible to look anywhere else. If it weren’t the lips it would be Dean’s eyes, and Castiel’s not sure staring into those would be a deterrent to kissing him either. “Because you knew I’d like it?”

“I…” Castiel doesn’t know what to say, and he lets his not-sentence trail off as Dean leans even closer. His breath hitches and he goes almost cross eyed, trying to follow him, expecting to feel lips on his at any moment, but Dean is heading for another direction.

“I do like it,” he whispers into his ear, his breath brushing across skin once again and causing Castiel to shiver. Dean takes a healthy step back and cocks an eyebrow at him. “You’re right, we do need hot chocolate.”

“You’re an assbutt,” Castiel tells him, Dean’s laughter providing a soundtrack as he heads into the kitchen.

When he returns with two mugs of hot chocolate, Dean has opened all of the boxes of ornaments and placed them on the coffee table. He is also in the process of unraveling lights. Cas hands him his mug and watches in bemusement as Dean takes a sip, makes a face and leaves for the kitchen, only to return with a bottle of Captain Morgan Castiel had no idea that he owned. “It’s good, I promise,” he says when he sees Cas’ face, pouring a generous amount into both of their mugs.

Castiel feels himself loosen up quickly after that. Dean shows him how to unravel and straighten the lights, then how to wind them around the tree, laughing and kissing him on the cheek when Castiel ends up swearing in frustration. He takes over, and Castiel gets his own laugh when Dean runs his sap covered hands through his hair and causes the short strands to stick straight up.

They begin hanging ornaments, Dean teasing Cas over how methodically he hangs each one and Cas making a point to sigh loudly whenever he has to move one of Dean’s ornaments because he’s hung it next to one that looks exactly the same. Dean calls him OCD, Castiel calls him artistically challenged, and they end up making out in front of the half decorated tree.

When their Captain Morgan fueled hot chocolates have been refilled and they start up again, Castiel starts in on the Disney princess ornaments. He knows some of them, gets to hear an amusing story from Dean about a seven year old Sam who was convinced he was going to marry a little mermaid. When he comes to an unfamiliar figure with a pink and purple dress, long blond hair and wide green eyes, he is struck suddenly by her resemblance to Dean and immediately tells him so. Dean scoffs and tells him to do something anatomically impossible, but the princess ends up being hung in the center of the tree, and somehow Cas manages to get another kiss out of it.

The garland and candycanes are added through another cup of hot chocolate, and suddenly Castiel finds himself settled on to his couch next to Dean, the only light to see by the lights in the tree, since Dean had insisted that the view was better in the dark.

Dean’s arm is around his shoulder, and Castiel feels comfortable and sleepy, with the warm lights of the Christmas tree washing over him.

“What are we doing here?” he asks after awhile.

“Shh,” Dean says quietly. “Just enjoy it.”

“Enjoy what?” Castiel is just as quiet.

“Dunno, it’s nice looking,” he answers. “Plus, kind of nice that it makes you feel so good without needing anything in return. Just give it some water, it’ll last for weeks.”

Castiel stares at the twinkling tree, which admittedly is very beautiful with its shining silver garland and the light reflecting off of the glass ornaments. He thinks about what Sam had told him days ago, about how important Christmas was to Dean, and how worried he was that Castiel might dislike it too much to be able to share it with him. He thinks about Charlie, and her admission that Dean’s constant cheerfulness was more a shield than anything else.

He thinks he understands. Dean isn’t doing all these Christmas-y things to convert him somehow, or because he thinks Castiel should like them purely because it’s Christmas. He’s doing them because this is how Dean expresses his feelings, shows his true happiness, connects with people and shares his life without having to talk. This is how Dean spends Christmas with his family, with people he…

Castiel feels his head drifting closer and closer to Dean’s shoulder, until he finally gives in and allows himself to rest. He can practically feel Dean radiating his surprise. “Dean,” he says quietly.

“Yeah,” Dean says, his voice strangely husky. Cas is too comfortable to lift his head and see his face, so he assumes it’s the alcohol.

“I thought you should know,” he mutters, turning his face into Dean’s neck, where it’s even warmer and he can feel the reassuring beat of his heart. “You’re my favorite part of Christmas this year.”

If Dean answers, Castiel is already too asleep to hear it.


	15. December 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy crap. Happy New Year! I know I suck, and I know I say I suck every time I update.
> 
> Listen, tomorrow is Ukrainian Christmas, which I do celebrate, so TECHNICALLY I'm within the Christmas season here, and I promised myself this fic was getting finished this Christmas (it counts that I'm starting every day posting the day before a technical Christmas holiday, right?)
> 
> I'm hoping this helps me get back into writing, since I've been planning to add to my hockey fic forever.
> 
> Thank you guys so much for the patience. I'm hoping the content of the chapter and what's to come makes up for it.

Castiel has never minded being as solitary as he is. He’s never been good at making friends, or retaining relationships with people, and even at this time of year, when he should be feeling the loneliness even more than usual, he’s really just glad there are less people to fuss over his depressed mood. He had Gabriel for the occasional interaction, and that was all he really needed.

Except sometimes Gabriel was not well suited for whatever Castiel needed, and then he ended up wanting to strangle his brother. This was one of those times.

“I’m proud of you for not staying the night, Cassie. Don’t want Dean to think you’re easy, do we?”

“For the last time,” Cas growls, pushing open the front door of the store a little harder than necessary. “It wasn’t like that.”

“You two sure looked cozy when I came to pick you up,” Gabriel grins, completely ignoring Cas’ annoyance. “If I’d been about five minutes later…”

“You’d have found me asleep and Dean most likely rightfully irritated that you took so long to come get me.”

“Po-ta-to, po-tah-to, little bro,” Gabriel rolls his eyes. “At least it would have been a Christmas gift you actually appreciated.”

“Even if I did enjoy Christmas,” Cas says, disgruntled, “I still fail to see how you could have thought my gift last year was a good idea.”

“Everyone needs a good dildo!”

“It was shaped like Santa, Gabriel.”

 A customer nearby sends them a horrified look and Gabriel bursts into laughter, stopping at the red mailbox that stood proudly at the entrance of the store and leaning over it to smile beatifically up at Cas, who could feel his cheeks warming with embarrassment. “And that’s why you got that particular gift,” Gabriel raises an eyebrow. “You need to lighten up.”

Castiel opens his mouth to counter, but Gabriel is already straightening up, gaze focused somewhere over Cas’ shoulder. “Speaking of you lightening up…”

Cas feels the arm around his waist before he sees Dean, and then a soft kiss is being pressed into his hair in such a manner that he’s rather proud of himself for not melting back into Dean. “We’re at work,” he grumbles half heartedly, and Dean only chuckles lowly in his ear, breath brushing across the shell.

“Aw, isn’t that sweet,” Gabriel coos. “I hope you two are using protection.”

“Why should we?” Dean answers easily. “Your mom didn’t.”

Unsurprisingly, the insult rolls right off Gabriel’s back. “Bet there are candy cane flavored condoms out there, Cassie. You want me to find some so old Dean-o here’ll be hurrying down your chimney tonight?”

Castiel’s not certain what his face is doing right now, but there must be some level of threatening in it, since Gabriel cheerfully raises his hands in placation and backs away from the mailbox. “Catch you two lovebirds later,” he calls, shit eating grin on his face as he heads for the escalator.

“He takes all the fun out of everything,” Dean sighs. “I can’t even ask you if he’s always like this because I’ve had more than a two minute conversation with him and already know the answer.”

“I can add a little enlightenment to that question and tell you that he has a strange obsession with getting me to do something indecent at work,” Castiel shrugs. “I believe it’s to level the playing field.” He turns to face Dean, whose face is doing a truly interesting dance between several expressions. “What is it?” he prompts, brow furrowed in confusion.

Dean’s voice, strangely, sounds slightly breathless. “Is that something you’d want to—“

“Squirrel!”

Dean swears and releases Castiel quickly. He tries not to let it bother him as he catches sight of the shorter, sharply dressed man who had called out to Dean, but he has to admit, as much as he dislikes publicly putting any sort of emotion on display, that he’s become incredibly used to Dean’s constant touches no matter where they are.

“Crowley,” Dean says as the man draws closer, still standing a careful distance away from Cas. “Didn’t know it was your once a year visit today.”

“You know me, always in the business of making our dear Meg’s life as pleasing as possible,” Crowley replies, his eyes flitting slowly over Castiel. “Who’s this then?”

“You should know, you supposedly hired him,” the slight bitterness in his tone surprises Castiel. From what he can gather, Crowley works in the store, and Castiel had seriously doubted that there was anything Dean disliked about Macy’s. Apparently he was wrong.

Crowley’s raised eyebrow manages to look sardonic. “He’s up in F.A.O. then?” his gaze runs dismissively over Castiel again. “Well, I’ve never made a secret of questioning Meg’s sense.”

Castiel opens his mouth and is quickly stopped by Dean’s hand around his wrist. “Crowley is head of the toy department,” he tells Castiel, forcing a smile. “He technically works for F.A.O. Schwartz, which is why you haven’t seen him before.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” Castiel says, no infliction to his tone as he studies the man before him coolly. Crowley’s gaze, for some reason, is fixed on Dean’s fingers encircled around his wrist, and Castiel wonders if he’s finally going to encounter someone here who is actually vehemently against Dean getting into his pants.

“Pleasure,” is Crowley’s smooth accented response, but it’s clear he’s been dismissed when the man turns his body towards Dean, effectively cutting him off. “I imagine you’re still the grease monkey around here, eh Squirrel?”

“Don’t call me that,” Dean scowls, jaw set.

“How can I not, with you scurrying around trees and your moose brother?” Crowley smirks. “Turns out you can be useful to me – there’s a bloody tree upstairs that’s on the fritz, one of those mechanical contraptions you swore would be worth it when I let you build the damn thing in the first place.”

“Yeah, bet there’s a light on the tree that won’t light on one side,” Dean mutters, something Castiel is sure is a reference that he doesn’t understand. Crowley seems to though, if the condescendingly amused look on his face is any indication. “And you want me to fix it?”

“That’s your job, isn’t it?” Crowley sneers. “If you hadn’t built such shoddy rubbish in the first place, I wouldn’t be wasting my time on this conversation.”

“’Course,” Dean says stiffly. “I’ll get right on that.”

“See that you do, I’ve been in this bloody cesspool of cheer long enough as it is.” Crowley’s departure is as swift and abrupt as his arrival, although undoubtedly more pleasing.

“Well,” Castiel says into the silence, staring after him. “He seems nice.” There’s no response from Dean, except for his hand to clench more tightly around Castiel’s wrist, and Castiel turns in alarm to see Dean drilling a hole in the floor with his eyes, jaw set. “Dean?” he asks tentatively.

“I fucking hate that asshole,” Dean tells him. “Give me a minute.”

Castiel gives him a minute, because, well. He’s never been very adept at the comforting thing. Gabriel always told him he’d rather be slapped repeatedly in the face with a wet towel then to have to suffer through Castiel’s awkward attempts at ‘bromotion’ as his brother liked to call them. But more than that, though Charlie had warned him Dean’s happiness with life was more an illusion of the holidays (and according to her, Castiel as well, though he refused to believe that) he still had failed to see Dean as anything but the shining light to his otherwise dreary existence.

Seeing Dean so affected by a conversation Castiel felt was strongly reminiscent of his family dinners was strangely jarring. He didn’t like it at all.

“Dean,” he tries again when Dean still hasn’t spoken, and when that doesn’t work, he brings his free hand up to the side of Dean’s neck, sliding his fingers back until he’s running them through the short, bristly strands of his hair. “I have some free time before my shift, would you like me to…help?”

Castiel is as knowledgeable about mechanics as he is about what normal families actually do on Christmas day, but for Dean, he thinks he could try to learn both.

It seems to snap Dean out of his seething at least, although not in the way that Castiel had intended.

“Help, huh?” he asks, a suggestive grin on his face as he leans in closer. “You mean like how Gabriel thinks you can ‘help’ me?”

“If you want Gabriel’s version of help, perhaps we should go find Gabriel,” Castiel replies seriously.

“Gross,” Dean chuckles, and to Castiel’s relief his hand falls from Castiel’s wrist to clasp at his hand. “But I’ll remember him if I need a midget for anything. Maybe to get into a small space.”

“I take it he wouldn’t be very useful in fixing this tree.”

Dean snorts. “It’s like twice his height.” He runs an appraising eye over Castiel. “But I could definitely use your help. C’mon, I’ll need my toolbox.”

“I take it this isn’t a normal tree,” Castiel says as Dean leads him towards the escalators.

“Nah. You haven’t been to the other side of the fifth floor yet?”

“Most of my time is spent confined to the checkout area, the stock room and the girl’s toys,” Castiel confides. “Charlie won’t let me near action figures after she heard me call Captain America over-muscled.”

“Cas,” Dean says solemnly. “If we ever break up, it’ll be because you insulted Cap after barely a week of dating.”

Cas feels a smile tug at the corner of his mouth and glances at Dean. “If you’ve managed to build a tree, you sound more capable than an over-muscled superhero anyway.”

Dean’s expression struggles for a moment before he mutters, “fuck,” and pulls Castiel off to the side of menswear, down through a narrow hallway of what looked like storage rooms. “Cruel and unusual to pit a man against his idol, Cas.”

“Tell me about your tree.”

Dean pushes a heavy looking door marked with a ‘maintenance’ sign open, dropping Castiel’s hand to usher him inside. “Alright, so, most of the year my job is kind of lame, you know? Going around the city fixing random shit that breaks down in office buildings and occasionally building some random shit the bigwigs decide they need for something but can’t figure out how to make happen.” He flips the light switch and rows and rows of unremarkable looking metal shelves are revealed. “Not that important, if we’re speaking honestly.”

Castiel frowns, tilting his head at Dean. “It sounds like you keep the city functioning,” he says. “Isn’t that the most important job of all?”

Dean coughs, his cheeks flushing as he otherwise ignores the comment, hand moving to scratch the back of his neck. “Anyway, ‘round November Bobby contracts me for all the Christmas decorations the store does. You know, the windows, lights, the giant ornaments hanging from the ceiling,” he waves his hand as he begins leading Castiel through the maze of shelves. “Bobby mostly gives me free reign, and I’ve been doing this for years, sometimes I kinda…” he grins sheepishly. “Go overboard?”

The row of shelves have finally ended, opening up to a large workspace practically bursting at the seams with what Castiel can only assume are Dean’s works in progress. A half built snowman rests closest to him, arm beside it’s bottom on the floor drapes of red and green fabric spill out of a large crate just behind it. Towards the center of the room is a large workbench littered in tools and other complicated looking pieces of machinery Castiel couldn’t even begin to try to put a name to, several Christmas trees made of metal resting next to the workbench at varying heights, each in a different stage of having lights screwed into them.

“Dean,” he breathes as he moves closer to the bench, bending to examine a reindeer head that could be real if not for the smooth, metallic glint to its fur. “You made all of this?”

“Yeah.” Dean chuckles behind him. “Thought you knew this is what I did?”

“I did, I just hadn’t thought of…I mean objectively…” Castiel can’t put it into words, his sudden realization that Dean _is_ Christmas at Macy’s. Of course he’d understood, heard the words that everything was Dean’s doing, but only seeing his workspace does Castiel truly understands that Dean makes all of this with his hands, that it’s all completely and totally just him.

Dean seems to realize it, what Castiel is just figuring it out, and in true Dean fashion, he turns away from the praise before Castiel can even begin to heap it upon him. “Yeah, so, the tree Crowley mentioned will be like one of these,” he says, gesturing at the metal trees and brushing past Cas to get to the workbench. He opens a large metal toolbox there and begins tossing things inside. “Must have a light out, or some of ‘em play music, so it could be that, or maybe it’s dented, happened one year one some customer on Christmas Eve rammed her handbag into the side of one going after the last pair of cashmere socks in Chicago, damn thing must’ve been full of bricks…”

“Dean.”

“’Course, Crowley could have told us what was wrong, but that would have required the bastard actually being fucking helpful,” Dean continues like he hasn’t heard.

“ _Dean_.” Cas growls this time, pushing roughly at Dean’s shoulder and forcing him to turn, small of his back pressed into the workbench.

“Jesus Cas, what—“ he abruptly cuts himself off when he sees the look on Cas’ face, expression going from indignant to cocky in an instant. “Thought you didn’t do workplace stuff?”

 “I never said that,” Cas says lowly. “Although I can say with confidence there was no one at my old accounting agency that I wanted to commit acts of indecency with in the maintenance closet.”

“Aw Cas, you’re popping your indecent workplace cherry with me?” Dean gives him an infuriating grin. “And here I thought I was just a romp in the h—“ his last word bites off in a groan as Cas presses forward, slotting his knee between Dean’s legs and nudging against the obvious beginnings of an erection.

“You were saying?” Castiel asks smugly.

Dean doesn’t answer with words, and Castiel realizes how out of his depth he is the second Dean’s lips are on his, wasting no time in coaxing his mouth open with the press of his lips and the gentle prodding of his tongue, persistent until Castiel gives in. “Dean,” he mumbles, barely managing to pull away, but Dean shushes him with a hand up his side, tucking into his waistband and managing to dislodge his button up in order to press warm, large and reassuring against his bare skin.

Castiel indulges for a moment longer, because he doesn’t allow himself to have these things, was never allowed to have things that made him happy, not at Christmas, not ever. But Dean, somehow, with his ridiculous innuendo and annoying obsession with the holiday season and his staggering intelligence that he refuses to see – Dean makes him happy. And Castiel wants it so much that he aches for it, and that he’s allowing Dean to trace his lips down the side of his neck in the back storeroom of Macy’s fifteen minutes before his shift.

“Don’t you have to fix your tree?” Dean chuckles, the noise vibrating in his chest where he’s pressed against Castiel, and Castiel feels another flash of warmth that somehow, some way, he’s allowed to have this.

“Not as important as this,” he murmurs, and Castiel totally and completely agrees, especially when Dean’s hand starts drifting towards the bulge in his pants, Dean’s own erection hot and hard where it’s pressed against Castiel’s thigh. But Castiel really does have a shift soon, and if he’s learned anything about this store, it’s that gossip travels quick and fast.

And his being late to a shift, looking like he’s sure he does after last being seen with Dean, is exactly the type of thing Gabriel would risk losing his job for in order to crow over the PA system.

Frankly it’s the thought of Gabriel spinning this whole ordeal into some incredibly cheesy and embarrassing Harlequin romance-type narrative in order to entertain a large portion of Chicago that forces Castiel to pull back, much to Dean’s disappointment.

“I was enjoying that,” Dean is pouting, just slightly, and Castiel smiles at him, gently swiping his thumb over the perfect bow of Dean’s lip.

“I know,” he lifts an eyebrow, studying Dean, cursing his next words almost as soon as they leave his mouth. “But honestly Dean, I think this would be much more enjoyable in front of our tree.”

He hadn’t meant to call it their tree. It implied an acceptance of this relationship as a tangible thing, it implied an acceptance of Christmas.

The delight on Dean’s face almost made it worth it. For him, maybe Castiel could continue to muddle through this, relationship with Dean and Christmas both, even if he had no idea what the hell he was doing.

Even if he was constantly waiting for the holiday to make his life miserable, like it always did.

**Author's Note:**

> As much as it kills me to call this Marshall Fields Macy's, I've gotta stick with the times. Although I'm still writing the toy section like it's F.A.O Schwarz, and not Toys R' Us. Can't stop me there.


End file.
